


He Just Makes Fuck-Ups

by impertinence



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence
Summary: Domino is in a tax-related jam. Wade and Cable get married and neither of them remember it.Lucky Domino. Unlucky love-sick Cable.





	1. Bad Memories & Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> strongly recommend listening to sarah shook & the disarmers for the full vibe!!! the title is ganked from [Fuck Up](https://genius.com/Sarah-shook-and-the-disarmers-fuck-up-lyrics).
> 
> thanks to the usual suspects for enabling.
> 
> warning for, generally speaking, deadpool levels of violence & bad choices.

"So, here's the money shot, straight from the rat's scrotum," Weasel said. "I registered your place as X-Force HQ, because Wade made me, and also because he doesn't have a real permanent address. This is Wade's fault, and your evil lasers should focus entirely on him. But since I registered your place as X-Force HQ, and since it's technically a property you own with a lot of complex legacy tax law around it, basically you owe the state thousands of dollars unless some really weird tax-related stuff happens. Like, maybe two old ladies move into your place and it's their legal residence and they get married and get a huge tax break and immediately die, kind of weird stuff. So I hope you have a healthy savings account, is what I'm saying. Do _not_ kill me. I am recording this conversation for posterity."

Later review would show that the camera caught Domino's scary-cool smile. "Guess we'd better hope I get lucky, then."

-

Nate didn't really know why he'd agreed to this.

Festivals weren't his thing. "Orgies of excess," he'd called them the first time Wade had asked.

"Ha! I could go for an orgy," Wade had said. "This is just drinking and wearing green beads. Maybe a little leprechaun dick, but I won't tell if you don't."

He'd declined the first two times, because he didn't want leprechaun dick and the idea of being around thousands of drunk people while they celebrated false heritage didn't appeal to him. Wade, however, loved to wheedle favors out of his friends (and enemies, and both-or-either), and so on his third try, Nate gave in to the inevitable and agreed.

Alcohol. A lot of it, in warm temperatures, with no breaks to speak of for hours. The world grew blurry after awhile.

It shouldn't have gone blank. It should have been impossible for Nate to lose his grip on reality, regardless of how many mind-altering substances he consumed. It should have been impossible for Wade to get, and stay, drunk enough to do something vitally important that neither of them remembered.

But at 9AM on Sunday morning, twenty-four hours to the second since he'd let Wade hand him his first beer, Domino stepped over Wade's prone form and picked a piece of paper up from her floor.

"Huh," she said. "Would you look at that."

The marriage certificate was printed on cheap copy paper. It was made out to "Nathan Terminator Summers" and "Wade -- Wilson :)". It was, Nate discovered as soon as he searched the Internet, 100% legally binding.

Domino no longer owed her mysterious back taxes. In the eyes of the State of New Jersey, he was now Nathan Summers-Wilson.

-

"Maybe I was just trying to do a really nice thing to help my good friend Domino, and I forgot about it," Wade said.

"Wade, you are very forgetful man, but I do not think you would forget this." Colossus' glare made it obvious that by 'this', he meant Nate - and the ring on Nate's hand.

Which he couldn't stop staring at. Where had Wade even gotten it...? It was nice. Tasteful. Nate might've picked it out for himself, except that it was a shiny symbol of their fucking marriage that he couldn't remember ever having seen before.

"This can't possibly be the only way out of Domino's tax issues," he said.

"Oh, it's definitely not. What?" Domino said when everyone looked at her. "I have an accountant. He was gonna deal with it. But since the marriage is already registered with the state, it would look a little - sketchy - if you guys changed anything now."

"How sketchy are we talking? On a scale of 'McDonald's handjob for extra sweet n sour sauce' to 'FIFA'?" Wade sounded almost scarily hopeful. "It's probably 'Mr Rogers erotica' sketchy, right? Weird but doable?"

"Um. No. High probability we all go to jail and Xavier has to bail us out, even me."

"Auuuugh," Wade said, and ripped a chunk of skin off the top of his hand.

Nate winced. "How long 'till the tax stuff blows over?"

"Well, you know, tax season." Domino shrugged.

When no one picked up on the hint after a few minutes of silence, Nate said, "I don't know about taxes."

"We are so fucked," Wade said. "Except me, tragically and ironically. If you try to make me give up my YouTube Red subscription, Cable, I'm filing for divorce. No one puts Baby in a corner!"

"Dude. YouTube Red is like, Logan Paul," Negasonic said. "Not porn."

"To some of us, Teenage Mutant Ninja Lesbian, those are the same thing."

"Tax season," Domino said loudly, "is in April. So, to answer the original, reasonable question, it's about eight months from now, if I file early."

Jesus. Eight months of this: Wade pantomiming something fucked-up to his teen non-protegé. Sharing a room. Letting everyone think he married Wade because, what, he was suddenly in love. It had to be believable. Who knew what kinds of people this time period had enforcing taxation?

"There must be other solution," Colossus said. "Perhaps I could speak to lawyers."

"No," Wade said, ripping his attention away from his miming. "No, seriously, don't give me that look, the X-lawyers are busy defending the kiddies from property damage suits. Baldness serum patent litigation. Trademarking 'Dickface Mcgillicutty' so Cyclops can start selling t-shirts. Suing -"

"Wade."

"Putting the State of New Jersey in a place where they can hurt a bunch of mutants just because of a little spontaneous marriage is really stupid," Wade said. "You know it, I know it, even Cable knows it, which is why he's not talking. Baby, I love you." He put his hand over Colossus'. His wedding ring glinted in the sunlight. "I know you want to protect me. But it's time to let me make my own mistakes with other rock hard metal -"

"Okay," Nate said. "Thanks for trying to help, everyone, but we have to go." He grabbed Wade's arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Marriage always robs one partner of agency," Wade said as Nate frog-marched him out of the room. "It's a hollow institution!"

-

Since they'd decided to go with the scam, they had to move all their stuff to Domino's. Luckily, she lived in an enormous four-bedroom apartment; he and Wade got the master bedroom with en-suite bathroom. Nate stared at the high ceilings and beautiful woodwork and thought about how long eight months could be.

Wade, for his part, was lying under the bed, only his feet visible. "Willer? Summerson?"

"Wade," Nate said, already dreading the answer.

"Nadeson?"

"Wade."

"For monograms, do you prefer all sixteen of your middle names, or just one?"

"We don't need monogrammed towels."

"True. You need world peace and I need magic Neosporin, but married life doesn't wait for such luxuries."

He was just saying garbage at this point. "I could buy a cot for the floor."

"And endanger Domino's credit score when the feds come a-knockin'? I don't think so, big boy." Wade pulled himself out from under the bed and stared at Nate, his mask inscrutable. "If this'll damage your game with the ladies -"

"I don't have _ladies_ -"

"There's always blow-up dolls. And wigs. I make a gorgeous blond."

Nate could picture it. Well, maybe not what Wade was thinking of, and he wasn't gonna try for that, but he could picture Wade with a blond wig and some ridiculous outfit - heels, skimpy underwear. It should've made him laugh.

He felt the barest hint of heat below his collar. "I stayed back in this timeline to save the world. I don't give a shit about how often I'm getting laid."

Wrong response, he thought. Wade had been tapping his foot and shifting his shoulders back and forth, and now he did neither; he held perfectly still, like he'd been suspended in amber. "Well," he finally said, "I care about getting laid, and if you're not willing to pony up the goods, I'll just have to get a little creative."

Nate bit back a laugh. "You do that."

"Oh, I will. Bea? Arthur?" Wade cupped his pecs protectively. "Let's leave the sad man to his brooding."

God, it was gonna be a long eight months.

-

"The thing I don't get," Domino said, and paused to take a sip of her drink.

She'd found the Patron on the pavement: a whole fucking bottle, unopened. Now, she and Nate sat on her balcony, sipping their drinks and watching the sun set.

"The thing I don't get is why you're going along with him."

Nate glanced over at her. "You could just not think about it."

"I opened my silverware drawer today and there was a three-pack of condoms where I keep my tablespoons. It's hard not to think about."

"Wade's...special."

"Wade's a lunatic, which we both know, and which is why I don't understand why you're not reminding him that my luck would keep any warrant-toting feds away. You could at least have separate rooms."

Nate looked at the sunset and tried to form his thoughts into a shape another person might understand.

"I stayed here because I was scared to go back," he said, curling his hand around his glass. "I figured I'd fucked it up once, gotten Aliya and Hope killed. Easier to just...stay here, try to do something where no one could be killed just to fuck with me."

"Okay."

"Wade can't be killed." He risked a glance at Domino, but she was looking across the city, body angled away from him. "So. He can't - they can't kill him. Not sure I could, even. So it's easier, if he's closer."

"Wow. You can hear yourself, right?"

"You asked," Nate reminded her, to ease the panic in his gut.

"Yeah, I've got a couple regrets." Domino downed the rest of her tequila, poured another drink. "You know, he could still fuck it up. In so many different ways."

"You're the one letting us stay. Why not kick us out, if we're that much of a liability?"

Her brows drew in and she actually turned to glare at him. He couldn't stop the smirk this time, raised his glass to her in a silent salute. "Thought so," he said, and drained his drink.

-

"It's a technomagnet scanner, capable of rendering typical boundary requirements for Spectre-class zero-day exploits obsolete," Yukio said.

"I'm so glad you'll be able to support Negasonic through her Guy In My MFA phase, you're doing amazing, sweetie," Wade said, "but I have no idea what any of that means."

Nate did, had read about it on the 'net, hundreds of years in the future. "She's saying, get the device, computer goes boom. Any networked device. No special virus necessary."

Wade held his hands up to his cheeks. "Yukio! Now you're talking! What's the reward and where's the device?"

"One million per team member," Yukio said. "Very respectable, paid from US government accounts - I checked."

"Sounds like X-Force material. But where? Tell me it's Budapest, please, all the cool kids get to do jobs in Budapest."

"The last known location was Winnipeg, actually. Sorry."

Wade sighed heavily and threw himself backwards. He bounced on the bed and his face mushed into Nate's thigh. Nate had practice with this by now: he didn't twitch, not a millimeter. "That's okay. Thanks for the tip. Send us the coordinates, we'll take care of the rest."

"Can do! Bye, Wade."

Wade tilted his head up just enough to wave at the webcam. "Bye, Yukio."

Wade wanted to fly them all up there first class, but Nate nixed it. "Think of how much you'll have to pay Weasel to get him off your dick about taking freelance jobs," he said.

"Weasel's never been on my dick. Most people haven't. Hey, Cable, why haven't you -"

Really. First class would've been better.

They got there and checked into the Moose Lodge Jaw Inn in downtown Winnipeg, rooms courtesy of the Saskatchewan municipal government. "No one over there's updated their systems in, like, thirty years," Russell had explained on the trip up. "Basically forever, so you know, they're willing to let you just raw them from behind if it means they don't get hacked."

"Thank you for the imagery, Russell. You are truly my progeny," Wade had said.

Apparently every Canadian in government work was a romantic, or they'd been misinformed, because he and Wade were the only two mercs sharing a room, and the room had a single king-sized bed. Wade had immediately flopped on it in delight, of course, which led to their current situation: Nate sitting at the suite's desk on one of this timeline's primitive laptops, searching for information on the scanner's theft, while Wade compared their current situation to the erotic novels he'd read.

"- but if you were going to be Christian Grey, you'd have tied me up by now, and you're obviously not a pirate, so -"

"Oil futures."

"- you could oil me up if you wanted - wait - what?"

Nate shook his head, the better to dislodge the image of Wade, lounging on the bed, slick and shiny and wanting. Pathetic. "What would you steal, if you could hop on any computer in the world and get all the info on it?"

"21 Guns. Marines and starring a Logan lookalike? Sign me up. Oooh, or Caydee Stanton's Google Docs, because the Kindle releases for 'Fivesome, Fivecum' haven't been updated in three years."

Nate closed his eyes. "Wade. What would you steal if you couldn't steal porn."

"...what else is there?"

He should've known better. "Anyone who knows what oil'll go for the next day stands to make millions. The info that turns into prices is stored on private drives, in private networks."

It was pleasant to watch understanding dawn on Wade's face. Probably a sign he had brain damage. "And this doohickey we're after can nab that info from anywhere."

"Tracelessly. Yes." Nate touched the laptop he'd been using and allowed his mind to access the Internet. It was an entirely different beast from the 'net of his day, both more organized and less edited. He sometimes worried it could overwhelm his implant - but the Internet contained everything he needed to know to reach a reasonable conclusion.

"There's an organization, looks like a shell company. Been shorting oil company shares for the last three weeks. If I had to bet, I'd bet on them."

"If you were a gambling man, you'd be a lot more interesting." Wade laughed, clearly distracted - all the better, Nate thought, turning his head so the pang of ridiculous hurt wouldn't show.

Wade didn't want to be married to him. For that matter, he didn't want to be married to Wade; why feel insulted when Wade just confirmed what they both knew?

"I can be more interesting after we've recaptured the device. This is our in." Nate turned the laptop to show Wade. "There's a bidding event tomorrow, 11PM. We should go."

"What do the illegally rich in Winnipeg even buy? Cows? Snow?"

"Money travels, Wade."

"So do selfies, and yet, I remain an Intsta-nobody." A pause. "Just tell me the plan. I can feel you thinking it."

Nate had evaluated Wade for telepathy before deciding to stay, and thus knew he couldn't feel shit. Still, he felt enough responsibility to be honest. "Whoever stole this will be the kind of person who can't hide their money. Local, or they'd've aimed higher; tacky, or they'd've gotten rich without the theft. Should be easy enough to find, as long as we make ourselves available."

"Is the future just an endless Russian Roulette of heist storylines enacted by hot people? Because your one charge could've brought us _both_ forward, you know."

It was just a joke. Just a joke, but Nate found himself saying, "Ever seen the symptoms of scurvy? When everything around you turns to ash, and the only vitamins are whatever's left in your loved ones' flesh?"

A pause, long by Wade's standards. Then: "Jesus fuck, fine. I get it. Spoilsport."

Icy silence prevailed until the next morning, when Wade decided to practice being a society wife. Ensuite, that didn't mean much, but as soon as they went into public, he became a parody of himself. He hung all over Nate, like he didn't realize a real oil tycoon would have a catalog model wife. He kissed Nate when they stopped for Starbucks, loudly called Nate 'my HUSBAND' to whoever was listening at the Shell station. It was fucking stupid, didn't contribute to their cover or mission at all, but Wade had thrown himself into it, and Nate had some very specific Wade-related weaknesses: he thought it was funny, and Wade was happy when he went along with it, God help him. After a day palling around with visitors from Finland, Nate felt more than justified in dragging Wade back to the hotel and dumping them both in the sauna.

"Three days," Wade muttered. "You know, normally, three days in, I've killed the target and I'm rolling in dirty money."

"Marriage can be a calming influence."

"Or I'm getting old and stupid." Wade slumped down onto the slatted wood bench. "The dick can't possibly be bomb enough to justify this."

"Maybe you're just getting tired." Nate leaned forward and tossed some more water on the hot rocks in the grate.

Steam billowed up, enveloping them both. "Interesting thesis, but I'm already tired. I've been tired," Wade said. "Only difference is now I'm tired and celibate."

Don't do something stupid, Nate told himself. 

Then he did it anyway. "Pretty sure I could fix that."

A sauna was already an inherently awkward place, given the humidity and nakedness. Wade's silence made it that much worse. "You're kidding."

He thought of pulling Wade closer in the steamy air. He'd feel even more fucked up with his skin slick with sweat, Nate was pretty sure. Somehow, that wasn't quite enough to put him off the thought. "You're right," he forced himself to say. "Tasteless joke. I apologize."

"Ha! If only you were really tasteless. It's just boring, you know, listening to men make promises they won't keep. If I wanted that, I'd go back down to the truck stop again - ooh, there's an idea."

Nate groaned and went back to tuning Wade out as he talked about truck stop blowjobs from men who, presumably, were more attractive to Wade than Nate himself.

The sauna killed a couple hours, but Nate still felt on edge when they showed up at the auction. Nate had wanted to leave Wade with Dopinder in the getaway car, especially after the display earlier in the day, but Wade refused: "You can't keep me from standing by my man! How dare you! Homewrecker!" It didn't make any damn sense, which didn't exactly advance the 'trust Wade undercover' case, but Domino had cocked her head and said, "Yeah, I think he should come."

Of the three of them, Domino's instincts were the best even before her freaky luck came into the picture. So Nate agreed to escort Wade.

"You guys look cute," Domino said. Wade had dug a tux out of who-knows-where and was hanging off Nate's arm like he thought he was a socialite. The effect was only slightly damaged by the mask he wore. It was good, looked real, but Nate couldn't stop seeing it out of the corner of his eye and thinking something was wrong.

Nate just looked like his normal self. So she must've mostly been talking about Wade. "You too," he said. Domino's dress was long and slinky and looked easy to run in. They weren't expect action, but -

Well. Like Wade had said: there wasn't a lot to do in Winnipeg. Probably weren't a lot of international visitors interested in the black market, either.

The auction moved quickly. Halfway through it, their doohickey went up for sale. Wade bid increasingly extravagant amounts on it until a man wearing a leather cowboy hat stood up and started shooting at them.

"Wow, that was quick," Wade said, and ripped his mask off.

Two people screamed at his face, fucking fools. Wade just grinned, though, teeth bared in a ridiculous grimace, as he pulled his guns out. "Give us the money-stealing magic box and no one gets hurt," he said, then blinked and shot someone in the knee.

There was no chance of it being anything but a riot after that. The cowboy hat man attacked them first; Nate shot him before he got close to Wade. A woman wearing a ball gown turned out to have an AK stashed in a hollow leg; Nate pulled up his shield and got himself in front of Wade, returning fire until she fell to the floor.

Domino had been on the second story when Cowboy Hat started shit, and now she jumped down and snagged the tech. A security guard rushed her, but tripped on carpet; one of the other guests shot at her, but his bullets hit the brass doorknob at the far end of the room and took out the last two people between her and the door. It was, as always, fucking beautiful to watch, like a dance you'd pay through the nose to see performed.

"Come on, loverboy, let's get out of here!" Wade said. He grabbed Nate's wrist.

"Get the fuck off me and lay down cover fire," Nate said. Wade was more than happy to cause a little more carnage; that plus Nate's shield got them out safely.

Fewer than twenty-four hours later, a mountie had the tech, Nate had a million more in his Swiss bank account, and Wade had somehow wheedled flourless chocolate torte out of the flight attendants: "Everyone loves newlyweds," he explained, chocolate-filled spittle flecking everywhere.

"Disgusting," Nate said. But he shared the cake.

-

Wade had trouble sleeping and he didn't know it.

Well. Nate could never be sure how much he actually forgot. He claimed not to remember all kinds of shit, but at least half of that was Wade lying for the hell of it, and Nate'd caught him doing the opposite more than a few times: pretending to remember a conversation he'd had or a promise he'd made, when any half-competent telepath knew he was lying through his teeth.

So maybe he actually did know he had trouble sleeping. Or maybe he suspected, but forgot all those times he muttered in his sleep, expression twisted in unseeing agony, as he begged someone to stop hurting him.

Nate hoped to hell he forgot.

The night after they got back from the Winnipeg job was the worst Nate'd seen so far. He lay there on his back, hands clenched together, as Wade progressed from whispering, "Please, no, stop," to "Ness - Ness! No, no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He'd lain in trenches and felt his best friend's brain splatter on his cheek, but he couldn't take this, not now: the silent, luxurious room, and Wade's own mind torturing him. Nate reached out, jostled Wade's shoulder, and when that failed to wake him -

He put his hands on Wade's shoulders so that Wade couldn't gut him, then let himself lean in, weight pressing Wade into the bed. "Wade. _Wade_. Wake up."

He went still first. Then he opened his eyes, bright and wet with tears. "Get the fuck off of me."

Nate rolled to one side. "You were -"

"I know. Not enough Skinemax before bed, or I'd have dreamed of pretty pretty ponies with great big di -"

"Why was it worse this time?"

He expected Wade to keep deflecting, to say 'was what worse?' or make something up. But apparently even Wade had a limit. He didn't try to bullshit Nate, only said, "You were there. Blood flying, heads rolling. Sometimes it stirs things up. Like a martini made of childhood memories and sadness."

"You were calling for your girlfriend."

Silence stretched over the room, cellophane-thin and bleak as anything. Nate waited for an answer, and waited, until Wade started snoring and he realized he wasn't going to get one.

When Aliya had nightmares, he'd pulled her close, stroked her hair and whispered gentle words of comfort. She'd done the same for him. Wade didn't have hair to stroke and would probably try to bite his balls off if he offered comfort of any kind. But damn it, they were married, Nate thought. That was part of the point of being married: comfort. Companionship. Not lying alone in the dark, wracked with pain.

Wade started crying again around 3 in the morning. Nate didn't wake him up again, but he did move closer, pressing himself against the bulk of Wade's side and trying to believe that tiny amount of physical contact helped.

-

Two months of sleeping side by side translated to two months of semi-permanent insomnia.

It wasn't Wade. Nate would've just told him to fuck off if it was. No, this was all Nate, because he couldn't sleep next to someone without imagining they were Aliya, and he thought he might go insane if he had more of those dreams. So mostly he didn't sleep; he needed to do so less than a normal person, anyway. And in this comparatively peaceful past, he simply didn't need to be at his best all the time.

(He could've gotten a cot, but when he suggested it again, Wade looked over-the-top offended in that way that meant he was actually hurt. No cot, then.)

Wade's nightmares got better and then worse again. Nate didn't reach out again. He told himself it wasn't worth it and got used to just denying the impulse when Wade started to sound extra pathetic.

Really, he should've spotted the problem earlier. He'd learned to ignore Wade's nightmares, but it had never occurred to him that the opposite might happen, not until he woke up to Wade's arms around him, his dick pressing into Nate's hip.

"Vanessa," Wade whispered, and pressed his cock more firmly against Nate. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Nate's brain just - stopped, for a second. Vacated the premises. Move away, he told himself.

He cleared his throat. "Wade."

Wade moaned in response. "Harder, baby, please."

" _Wade._ Wake up." Nate jammed an elbow into Wade's side.

The too-familiar stillness, and then Wade was rolling away. "Fuckstick, I didn't - fuck fuck fuck fucking -"

Nate looked over to see Wade wiping his eyes. Tears. Christ, what was it like to live in a brain that made his loss new over and over?

"Hey. Wade."

"I would really. Appreciate you not talking right now. The oven's electric and we're only on the second floor."

Ah, fuck. Nate closed his eyes.

"I keep thinking I hear her. I keep - fuck. This is fucking pointless. I don't know why I ever thought -" Wade moved to get out of bed.

Nate put a hand on his hip. "Wait."

There was just enough light in the room for Nate to be able to make out Wade's frown, the glint in his eyes. "Really not in the mood."

And he wasn't, that much was obvious; his voice was scarily flat, entirely devoid of the personality that usually fucking fountained out of it. Nate felt something in him shift, close to breaking. Doing this would be cosmically stupid, and he'd regret it, and knowing all of that didn't stop him from saying: "I can make her real again. If it would help."

"What?"

He didn't need to go deep into Wade's fucked-up brain for this, barely even had to exert any effort at all. Wade's memories and dreams of Vanessa crowded the day and filled his nights. It was easy to call up her voice, her scent, her body, all as remembered by Wade. When he spoke, he sounded like her. "If this would help. Just once. So you can say goodbye."

"Jesus, that's fucked up."

Yeah, sure was. But Wade wasn't trying to leave the bed anymore. "Hey, baby," Nate said. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

For a second he thought Wade might punch him, or just straight up try to kill him. He watched as Wade took a shaky breath, kept up the gentle psychic pressure that would mean Wade could touch him and feel someone else entirely, even as he put a hand out to summon his gun.

"God." Wade glanced at the ceiling and then down, like he wasn't sure who he was calling to. "Ness. Fuck. Ness, I missed you. I really did. You asshole."

Nate wasn't sure if that was meant for him, or - well. He knew how she'd react. "Nuh-uh. None of that. You've got one last shot here, don't disappoint me."

"Come here," Wade whispered, and the shame and love and terror wrapped around Nate like his own T-O virus, burrowing into him.

He went. He straddled Wade and kissed him, slowly and tenderly, then faster, biting at him like he knew Vanessa once had. He pressed Wade into the bed and sucked his dick - let Wade fuck his mouth, fingered his ass and balls with unearned familiarity. Wade went from self-conscious grimaces to chanting her name, utterly consumed by it, and Nate -

Nate let him. Nate held onto him after, stroked his hair, whispered sweet nothings of the life they'd have together after Wade finally kicked it. Wade fell asleep with a wistful smile on his face, turned towards Nate, more trusting than Nate'd ever seen him.

As soon as he felt Wade's last grip on consciousness slip, Nate disentangled himself and went into the bathroom. It took barely a touch, a tug on his cock, and then he was coming so hard he slammed his head into the brick wall, pain and pleasure sparking together. He'd fucked up. So fucking badly, but he'd do it again for the feeling of Wade trusting not-him, of Wade just giving in.

-

Wade disappeared. Nate didn't try to find him.


	2. To Get My Luck Up

He hadn't stayed for Wade. He _hadn't_. But this timeline was a hell of a lot less tolerable without him. Nate was going stir-crazy when he walked into Domino's kitchen, a week to the day since he'd fucked it all up, and saw Wade sitting at the kitchen island. Eating a stack of Pop-Tarts, in underwear and his mask, like nothing had even happened. Nate felt something twist low in his gut.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! If you makey some. Which I haven't," Wade said by way of greeting.

There was a signal there, a 'don't bring it up' signal that Nate frankly didn't need. He understood how to ignore and repress something better than anyone. "It's a wonder you haven't died of malnutrition," he said, and went to get coffee.

"I've never tried that one. Another time, maybe. We've got a job."

Of course. He probably wouldn't have come back, otherwise. "Weasel?"

"You'd think, but no. The X-Men sent us a dossier on Rod Lothbrok, a charmingly named man who, sadly, isn't a Viking farmer in upstate New York that I could run away with and fuck by a beautiful mountain stream, with our A-frame cabin in the background. Children frolicking in a copse of trees as we steal away for the day -"

"Wade." Where the fuck had he been? His mind seemed even more scrambled than usual. "Back to Rod. What's his deal?"

"Oh, right." Wade shoved two entire Pop-Tarts in his mouth and spoke around spraying crumbs. "Senator. Big advocate for DMC. He wants to fund mandatory DMC homes for mutant kids."

Ice crept down Nate's spine.

"Fucked up, right? Be cooler if it was the farm thing."

"Where's he live?"

"Okay, chillax, T3. The job isn't to kill him, it's to get enough people to vote against him. Here." He lobbed a USB stick at Nate. "There's more info in there."

Nate put his T-O finger against the port and let himself reach out, pulling the data in. This had to be Xavier's work: pages upon pages of intelligence, operational security information, financial records. Everything that could possibly be public on the guy, and quite a lot that wasn't.

"Thorough."

"Yeah, it's X-traordinary what you can accomplish if you stop wasting time on having a personality."

Nate decided to ignore that one. "Looks like our first step is the Mutant Benefit Gala tomorrow, at the mansion."

"Ugggghhhh. Can't you take Domino?"

"Now, why would I do that, when I could take my handsome new husband?"

He said it without thinking, instinctive needling that came with a sarcastic curl of his lip. Wade stared at him for a moment, mouth gaping open, half-chewed Pop-Tart dropping onto the plate below him.

He should've kept his fucking mouth shut. "Never mind. We can -"

"I'm going," Wade said quickly. He blinked and shook his head, looking away from Nate to cram the mushy Pop-Tart back into his mouth. "With you. Obviously. If we send you in with Domino, you'll both be elected senators before the week's out, and then where will we be? I'd have to train Dopinder in the ancient art of assassinating baddies. He's not ready for that rodeo just yet."

He kept going like that for awhile as Nate sifted through the data and made plans on who to target. He didn't bother sharing those plans with Wade, who'd forget them right away - or remember just enough to cause trouble by trying to proposition the wrong person at the gala. Equally likely.

God, Nate'd missed him.

"Take it easy today," he said when Wade wound down. "I'll pass this on to Domino."

"Oh, thanks, I was waiting on your permission." Wade hopped off his stool and breezed past Nate, kissing him on the cheek. "Missed you, pookie."

So they were back to normal, then. Mostly. Nate hoped.

-

He had anticipated a variety of problems at the gala: Wade rediscovering a penchant for rudeness, or an uninvited guest trying to kill Wade, or Wade kissing Colossus in full view of easily offended politicos. Really, most of his concerns centered on Wade. "I think that's fair," Domino had said when he'd run them by her. "I'm lucky, and you're boring, so Wade's the likeliest target."

He wasn't sure if he should've been offended by that.

The joke was on them both, though, because Wade was - well. _Good_ might have been somewhat inaccurate. He was still Wade, which meant he ate an entire tray of canapés before he'd introduced himself to a single politician, and he grabbed Nate's ass twice in full view of every single member of the X-Men. But Wade was charming. It was one of the first things Nate'd noticed about him. A fucking mess, yeah, a pain in the ass, absolutely. But people liked him. They liked being around him. He could, and did, make them feel good, help them have fun.

He was, in other words, exactly the perfect trophy husband he'd bragged about being on the ride over.

"This is so weird," Domino said over the comm-link.

Nate watched Wade make the senior Senator from Pennsylvania, Betty Whitman, laugh. "You're telling me."

"I've bugged every pro-DMC rep I could find, which by the way? We're seriously outnumbered right now. Twenty-five to one."

"We'll get the vote count. This is just the first step."

Every other Senator was undeclared. A broad pool of possible outcomes, with terrifying potential consequences. Nate could feel uncertainty snaking through the room, sparks of disgust and hostility from the pro-DMC rep. He'd been confused that so many would be attending the benefit, but as Wade had explained: "The prof's still pals with all kinds of important people. He's the carrot, Magneto's the stick. _Very_ phallic. And no one wants to be left out of the sex toy party, even if they think the kinks on offer are seriously messed up."

Meaning, political policy would be formulated at a gala just like this one, and even bigots wanted to be in the room when that started happening. Of course. Democracy was endlessly complicated, and frequently seemed to consist of competitive cowardice on the part of representatives.

(When he'd said as much, Wade had hooted with laughter and said, "That's good, you should tell Xavier that one." Nate would never: Xavier wouldn't find it amusing, and anyway, he rarely felt the need to share his thoughts after he'd gotten Wade's reaction.)

"Keep an eye on Schaffer," Nate said. "Wade and I are going to go to work on Collins, from Iowa."

"Schaffer, right. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"

"His daughter's a mutant. Let's see when he remembers." He flicked his comm off and went to collect Wade. This part was easy: slide into the crowd, smile apologetically, put an arm around Wade's waist. Nothing he wouldn't do normally, if this marriage was real. "Wade, let the Senator circulate. Neither of _us_ can help her achieve her mandates."

Whitman smiled warmly at them both. "Oh, but he can make the job so much more enjoyable. Great talking to you, Wade."

"Jealous?" Wade said as Nate steered them towards Collins.

"Of course not. We just need to circulate a little more."

"Too bad. Jealousy sex is hot. Oooh, speaking of. Who's the hottie?"

"That is Adam Collins, the junior senator from Iowa. His childhood best friend can spit fire."

"So he's our new BFF, is what you're saying."

"If we play our cards right." Nate brought them to a halt in front of the Senator in question. "Adam! Cable. We spoke on the phone."

Collins raised a speculative eyebrow, shaking his and then Wade's hands. "Your parents name you that?"

"They did, actually." Nate let a ghost of a smile lurk at his lips. "But I don't blame you for doubting me, surrounded as we are by -"

"Squares," Wade said. "If I could get my kid to go by one name, I would."

Nate caught himself before he reacted to the bitter note in Wade's voice. Collins didn't notice anything at all; he smiled, looking between them. "But Cable told me you two had just married. I assume you're not thinking of children just yet?"

"No bun in my oven." Wade patted his distractingly flat stomach. "But you never know, right?" He winked at Collins.

Yes, Nate had picked correctly. Collins wasn't offended, and in fact laughed. He seemed impressed by Wade, willing to believe the scarring was the result of his mutation. And he -

Well. He quietly kept a boyfriend at home, Nate knew, and neither of them was the exclusive type.

Eventually, after promising Nate he'd talk to his aides about the mutant child rights bill on his desk, he moved on. Wade muttered, "Jealousy is the last refuge of the weak."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, sugar bear." Wade turned a too-bright smile on him. "Is his boyfriend a Daddy type too?"

Nate blinked.

"You know, thick in the chest, gray hair, gruff voice."

"What do you mean, 'too'?"

"He was ready to drag you off to a coat closet. I thought I'd have to challenge him to a rousing manly game of swordplay."

And that - was not what Nate had guessed. He understood the need for privacy, and Xavier forbade usage of powers on guests at these events, anyway. (Unless he was the one using them. Nate respected that bit of hypocrisy.) "He liked you. He thought you were charming."

"Sure he did. He also loooved you."

"That's ridiculous."

"Wow, you're serious." Wade stared at him, something unfathomable lurking in his eyes. "Cable Nathan Summers, a moron."

"Whatever you like," Nate said, too honestly. "Come on. We've got a list, and we're only halfway through."

Thank God: Wade let Nate pull him on to the next target.

-

They'd had plenty of champagne when they made it back to Domino's. It was just past two, and Domino said, "If you fuck loudly enough that I can hear it, I will kill you," before stumbling to her own room.

"She's so pretty," Wade said, leaning into Nate. 

"You're prettier."

"You're full of it." Wade planted a big, messy kiss on Nate's cheek. "But that's why I married you."

Nate looked away, kept it all locked down as they got ready for bed. He hoped he wouldn't have insomnia tonight, for once, tipsy as he was. But he lay awake, and lay awake, as Wade tossed and turned next to him.

"I shouldn't have turned down Mark from Senator Stillman's staff, even if his boss _is_ a monster. Going to the bathroom, don't wait up," he added, more loudly.

"Wait," Nate said, and put a hand on Wade's wrist to stop him from getting out of bed.

"Let go of me," Wade said. But he didn't move, didn't so much as twitch.

Nate willed himself to focus. "Where you goin'?"

"To the bathroom."

"To take care of..."

"Jesus bellydancing Christ, Cable, I know you know what the birds and the bees are. In this case, single bee, me, making life simpler for us both."

"Sure." And Nate - tugged.

His TK made it easy. Wade tumbled into bed and, fuck, he was hard. Nate hadn't let himself think of that fucked-up time when he'd pretended to be Vanessa, and so it hit him again like it was brand new: Wade was fucking hung, and had the most incredible habit of arching his back into the air, like he needed someone to touch him. Like he might die for real if he didn't get it.

"Let me take care of you," he said before he could think better of it.

He'd have understood Wade's reaction even without the telepathy. He shook with need, groaned at Nate's phrasing. "Fuck, you have no idea how good that sounds."

"I might." He knew how good it sounded to Wade, anyway. "Please."

"You can't be serious." Wade was staring at the ceiling now, gears whirring in that brain of his. "There's no way you can be, because you could go fuck anyone. Hot people. Supermodels. We were just hanging out with a bunch of politicians! If there's anyone who could get you some really hot, ethically dubious ass, it's -"

Nate almost kissed him. He just lost his fucking mind for a second. He managed to turn at the last minute, brush his lips against Wade's shoulder instead. "Promise I'll make it good," he murmured. 

"Ah, fuck. You know I won't say no. What kind of idiot - moron -"

Wade spiraled off into a verbal jungle as Nate reached down and pressed a hand against his cock. Wade's sweatpants were doing their job admirably, trapping him there for Nate to touch. He was heavy, hot, the tip of his cock pressing against the fabric hard enough to let a little dampness through. How long had he been lying there, desperate for someone to touch him?

Long enough, anyway, that when Nate pulled his pants down, pressed two fingers into his hip, Wade hissed a breath and bucked up in an aborted thrust. "Don't be such a tease, I could be fucking a roll of toilet paper right now."

He made a mental note to pick up some toilet paper tomorrow. "A roll of toilet paper can't do this." He pressed his thumb against the head of Wade's cock, holding him firmly, letting Wade feel the drag of his palm. He'd lotioned himself up, so it was nice and slick, but Wade -

Wade didn't like things gentle. He thrust up into Nate's hand, once, twice, abortive little movements that made his desperation obvious. Nate didn't want this to end -

(God, he never wanted it to end.)

\- too quickly, so he moved his hand away, ignoring the stream of filthy curses that fell from Wade's mouth as he reached further down to cup his balls.

"Feel good?" he said.

" _Fuck_ you." Wade spread his legs wider, dropped his head back. Closed his eyes, which - fuck, finally.

Because when Wade's eyes were closed like this, Nate could look his fill. 

Yeah, he was ugly. Fucking obvious. But there were pretty people all over the place, and mostly they looked the same. Wade's ugliness was like the Grand Canyon, hard to take in and impossible to memorize. Wherever Nate looked, there were more details, more texture. 

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not in the slightest." Nate leaned forward and bit Wade's hip, getting a firm grip on his cock.

He smelled like sweat and spilled booze. He moved perfectly in time with Nate, tense and almost graceful. Nate let himself love it this time, the rough movements, the hungry noises and complete nonsense that spilled out of Wade's mouth.

He was perfect. So fucking perfect. And after he came all over Nate's hand, after he passed out and started snoring, Nate brought himself off, smelling Wade's spunk all around them, coming hard to the image of Wade fucking into him.

-

"The verdict is in, and the people love us."

Nate stopped mid-sip of coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Invitation from Collins to hang out in his garden, probably suck his toes." Wade tossed a card on the table. "Invitation from Rodriguez to check out an art museum - nudes, I'm sure." A letter. "Business card from Morrison, probably just so we can call and listen to him ramble about the existential threat posed by six-year-olds who can stick their hands through walls, but still means we made an impression." Flicked into the wet sink. "We're a success. You should've signed a prenup, Cable, we're gonna be famous and I'll take you for all you're worth."

Nate set aside anything he might have felt about Wade talking about 'taking' him. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Wade dropped the pile of invitations on the floor. "Big promises from a little man."

"Ha fucking ha. We should talk to Collins."

"Seriously? I'm not into feet."

"He was receptive to what we had to say last night - and more importantly," Nate said, raising a hand to keep Wade from cutting in, "he's already well-liked and known for his ability to collect votes to a cause. We'll need someone like that. Well. As many someones as we can get."

"I don't see why we're not just going after the mutants. The one from California, or the House representative from New York."

"They won't vote for an expansion of DMC."

"But we could confirm that. Don't you like easy wins?"

Nate thought of Wade offering to divorce him, of Domino's casual questioning of his motivations for staying. "I like permanent wins," he said finally.

"Spoilsport." Wade wandered over to the fridge and pulled out his jar of hard-boiled eggs, ignoring Nate in favor of swallowing them.

Whole. He'd smush them with his throat on the way down. It was fascinating, if disgusting, to watch. Nate wasted a morning following Wade around the apartment, telling himself the attention was, somehow, strategic.

At lunch, over peanut butter and banana sandwiches, Domino said, "The thing I don't understand is how DMC stays so clean."

"Heavy-handed metaphor for post-9/11 security theater says whaaat?"

"Eat your banana. Not a heavy-handed metaphor," Domino said. She turned back to Nate. "Everyone's got a scandal. Why don't they?"

It was an angle he'd considered once or twice, but - "Government agency, they've probably gotten good at cover-ups."

"Yeah? Maybe." She tapped the table. "But I went looking this morning, hoping to get lucky. Cable, I couldn't even find a parking ticket."

"Ooooooh," Wade said. "Oh, man, deus ex Domino. Nice."

It was a solid lead, maybe the most solid they'd found so far. "Sounds like something's going on there." 

She nodded. "So while I'm looking into that, what will you two be doing?"

"Sucking Iowa toe cheese," Wade said solemnly, and got up from the table, wandering off.

Nate sighed. "Senator Collins is our best lead. We're going to work him over tonight."

"Wade's contagious, isn't he," Domino said.

"Only in the best of ways, sister!" Wade called from the living room.

"We need numbers," Nate said. "And I -" Have no idea what to do with a system of government not run by a dictator. Hate talking to people. Would prefer to crush this representative body and put myself in charge, instead. "- am still new to this," he finally said.

"Sure you don't want to switch? I can butter up some racist patriarchs, no problem."

He had thought of that. But.

As much as Domino ever looked eager to do anything, she'd looked eager to research DMC's freakish lack of a paper trail. Now, her shoulders were braced, and she watched him carefully. _I was raised here. Well, I was tortured here._

Yeah, no. Nate wasn't going to ask her to bare her throat to guys who wanted to make sure every mutant kid had a childhood just like hers. 

"I think we're good," he said. "Plus, I'm not the butter. That's Wade. I'm the -"

"Mature toast?" Domino suggested sweetly, and laughed when Nate scowled at her.

-

Despite Wade's conviction that Collins was into Nate, Wade was the one who ended up charming the pants off him.

It wasn't like Nate could blame him. Wade was taking this seriously, which mostly meant that his usually unbridled insanity was, well, slightly bridled. His jokes didn't have quite as many teeth, and he looked for things that actually made Collins laugh. He was charming. He was -

Flirting, Nate thought, and grimaced with the truth of it. Harmless flirting, sure, but it highlighted the difference between this and any of the many, many moods Wade had displayed when spending time with Nate.

But it was useful. The mission was what mattered. Wade got a promise out of Collins to be a guest of honor at the anti-DMC party that they were, apparently, hosting. "Don't sweat the details," Wade muttered to Nate, before tossing out a smile at Collins and heavily implying he'd pay him in 'cocktail wieners - or real ones, if you like.'

Collins laughed then, flushed at Wade's wink, and while it couldn't be serious - while it was almost certainly just casual flirting - Nate still found himself resentfully jealous. He was fucking pathetic.

"How do you throw a political party, anyway?" Wade said on the ride home. "We need ours to be more fun than Xavier's, but I don't even know where I'd find dancing boys for hire. Craigslist?"

"No dancing boys. We'll get some help."

Nate meant a professional party planner, but before he had a chance to clarify, Wade whipped his phone out and said, "X-Force assemble! I need help planning a classy party! Grapes and those little crackers with raw fish on them, not optional! Sexy alcoves to disappear into and cause a scandal, semi-optional! Oh, hi, Yukio, is Negasonic there? Tell her she's only invited if she's ready to be part of the chamber orchestra. That's right: your girlfriend's gonna play oboe."

Great. What could go wrong? Wade kept jabbering on the phone until they got home, at which point he set up three appointments for Yukio to come and tell them how to throw a party. This had to be overkill; for starters, a sixteen-year-old girl who loved bright colors and cartoon shows couldn't possibly know what should go into planning a serious political event, regardless of how handily she'd helped take down Juggernaut. But, on the other hand, Nate's sensibilities were firmly non-modern, and Wade was - well.

Nate didn't really want to know what 81-year-old Illinois Representative Marge Johnson would say if Wade gave a speech where he likened the party's chocolate fountain to his diarrhea after he'd been drugged in the Ice Box, or whatever lunatic thing he'd come up with. So Wade being distracted by Yukio was probably, overall, a pretty good thing.

Their first appointment was the very next day. "I have so many plans for you," Yukio said as they all sat down at Domino's kitchen table.

"Just make sure they're tasteful and appropriate for a conservative set of politicians," Nate said.

"Sweetie, you're so boring when you get into politics." Wade patted his knee. "Those storylines were my least favorite parts of our run together."

"Negasonic helped me get the train depot rented for your party," Yukio said, opening a sparkly pink unicorn binder. "She got you a 50% discount, too."

Nate blinked at the numbers on the page. "Don't these things normally take longer?"

"She's very persuasive. Now, given the Art Nouveau details of the restoration, it should be very easy to decorate. You don't really need to add a lot. But of course, there will be catering. How many guests are you estimating?"

Nate hadn't planned that far. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, frowning as he tried to get a mental count.

"Let's say a hundred and fifty for now," Wade said. "I love this train depot idea, very classic, but will there be -"

"Sexy alcoves?" Yukio beamed. "Of course!"

"Wade," Nate said, a little harsher than he meant to. But, Christ, she was a kid. A kid who was apparently really good at both fighting supervillains and event planning, but -

"Much as I would like to drag my husband, who's madly in love with me, into a party alcove, for some _The Duke who Desired Me_ action, that's not why I want alcoves. This is a party to chat up the powerful. To do that, you need to be able to take them somewhere that isn't covered by the watchful eyes of fifty of their most bigoted peers."

"Also, I would like somewhere to go when I get bored," Yukio said. 

Fucking - "I'm going to go to the gym," Nate said. "Don't wait up."

"We weren't planning to!" Wade called after him.

-

It just rankled that Wade might be better than him at this, that was all. 

Nate had been bred to be a warrior. He'd never known anything else. Warriors fighting to make the world right had to be trained in a near-endless variety of arts and crafts -

('Glitter puff paint?' he could almost hear Wade ask. The guy was hilarious even in Nate's rambling imagination.)

\- and were expected to be able to pick up new skills with little to no training.

All that work, all that fighting, hadn't left him a whole man. Of course not. Aliya would - had - mocked him many times over it. "I swear," she'd say, "you could talk a rebel faction into surrendering arms and swearing loyalty to you, but put you at the head of a table for a state dinner and suddenly you're tongue-tied. It's a good thing you have me."

It had been a good thing. And it followed that it was a good thing he had Wade, now. He had, after all, resolved to stop this world from sliding into the shithole. He needed allies for that.

Marriage was the ultimate partnership, the cementing of an alliance that could never, would never, be broken. Nate had known that when he'd proposed to Aliya. He'd known that when he'd suggested to Wade that they sunder their relationship after a short few months.

He thought of what he might do alone, fighting to retain enough support to block pro-DMC legislature, struggling against Xavier's own more conservative strategy. What would he do? Very little, he suspected, none of it as effective as Wade's own plan: babble at politicians until they voted the way Wade asked them to, because he was amusing and enlivening to be around.

Six more months, and he'd find out for sure.

-

It all came to a head a mere four hours before the party.

Domino and Nate were both getting ready in the living room. Domino, fastening her earrings, said, "Is there a betting pool on who Wade offends first, and I just don't know about it? I wouldn't cheat. Swearsies."

"You couldn't help yourself," Nate said, adjusting his ankle holster. "But no. He's the grease in this set of wheels."

Domino laughed. "Good one."

"I wasn't joking."

"Um. Are you serious?"

"Butter, remember?"

"I thought that was a joke! Okay, well. Your faith is touching, it really is."

Ice curled in the pit of his stomach. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing." But she was clearly lying. "I mean, Wade's nice. I like him."

"You joined his team despite it being objectively the insane thing to do."

"That was just me acting on instinct."

"I'm still here, too."

"Different kind of instinct - still valid, not hating. It's just." She cocked an eyebrow. "You really think, if you weren't here to impress, Wade would be doing this?"

It felt a bit like being knocked off a speeder back in his own timeline. For a moment there was nothing under, above, or around him, not even gravity itself. "What?"

"Oh, wow." Domino just stared at him. "Wow. Just. Okay. You know what, forget I said anything. Not important at all."

He had never been more desperate for answers than he felt just then, nor had he been more certain that he wouldn't receive them. He could rummage around in her thoughts, if he wanted - but that would be a breach of trust she wouldn't forgive, nor should she.

Instead, he forced a smile. "He's going to do great."

"That part was never in doubt."

"Guys! Guys! Check this out: hidden mic pasties!"

Nate turned to greet Wade with a smile, constitutionally incapable of doing anything else.

But - "Oh my God," Domino said when presented with Wade's decorated nipples. "Googly eyes, really?"

Yeah, Wade was still Wade, even when ambition got the better of him. In a sense, that was a relief, but it ratcheted up Nate's concern related to the event space, right up until he entered the room with Wade on his arm.

Domino, two paces behind them let out a low whistle. "Nice work."

"Thank you," Wade said with comical dignity. "Yukio? Hit it!"

Incredible tasteful orchestral music began to waft around the room. The train depot had been outfitted with tall tables, all the better for drunk politicians to put their finger foods and empty champagne glasses. Caterers hovered at the edges of the room, finishing their setup. And there were, as promised, cozy alcoves: benches and potted plants strategically placed throughout the room, to provide the illusion of privacy. The overhead lighting had been dimmed, and candles burned on the tables and on the windowsills that lined each of the two longer walls. The overall effect was perfect: classy and cozy, but fun. Enticing, if Nate had to pick a single word.

"Well done," he said finally as Wade beamed. "It looks wonderful."

"Yukio's _very_ talented. Negasonic doesn't deserve her."

Cable thought of the looks he'd exchanged with Negasonic every now and then, when Wade went on one of his objectively nuts tangents while Yukio beamed at him. He felt the tips of his ears heat. "Yes, well. Congratulations: you picked the right person for this job."

"First guest is coming up the drive," Domino said over the comm.

Nate held out his arm to Wade. "Shall we?"

For a moment Wade stared at him, eyes wide, and Nate felt - aware. Of the heat emanating from Wade's body, of how defensively his shoulders were set, of his fucked-up face all soft and vulnerable in the candlelight. The whole package.

Wade stepped forward. Nate, ready for Wade to take his arm, didn't know to move until it was too late, until Wade was hugging him.

Soft, warm, firm. A promise of sorts. A lie, entirely.

They stepped apart. Wade stared at him, licked his lips. "Now I am," he said in a low voice, and tugged Nate towards the doorway.

The invitations had been sent by Domino, whose mojo seemed to be holding for now; they had fifty people in the room before the first trays of champagne began circulating, and a hundred-plus before Wade gave his first of many speeches. It was like watching a high-wire act, Nate thought, only significantly more concerning, because the danger wasn't really that Wade might fumble his words. The danger was that he'd decide this wasn't worth doing anymore - or, still worse, forget why he'd been doing it to begin with.

Also, he was horny. And he wouldn't stop reminding Nate of that fact.

He didn't do much of anything anyone else might notice. But he kept himself basically plastered to Nate's side, and he'd stroke a finger over Nate's forearm, or sneak a quick ass-grab, and Nate -

Could feel him burning up with it. Desire, impossible to ignore, images of them kissing, fucking. Tender shit that Wade should've realized he wasn't going to get from him.

He didn't deserve it, mired in his feelings as he was. They might be stuck in this marriage, but Nate wasn't going to lie to Wade more than he absolutely had to. He couldn't kiss Wade or let Wade fuck him without him figuring out the truth, and that...

Was not going to happen. Period. Shut the door on even the loosest concept.

"Well," Wade said hours later, after they'd said goodbye to the last few guests, "this was obnoxiously expensive and our democracy is definitely in a shambles. But I think it went well."

Domino had already gone home, claiming exhaustion. Nate thought he was fine, right until he sat down and his entire body reminded him that politics until four AM didn't mix with chronic insomnia. "Fuck."

"Cable?" Sudden tension in Wade's voice. "Are you -"

"Just tired." Nate waved a hand. "Yeah, it went well."

Wade flopped down next to him, pressing their shoulders together. "At least I have Sex Yoga tomorrow."

"Sex..."

"Yoga. It's online, you wouldn't understand. Or maybe you would? Do they have sex yoga in the future? Jane Fonda hologram, lots of nice, smooth yoga -"

"No."

"Dildos - well, that's depressing."

Nate clenched his hands against his thighs and told himself not to reach out, not to kiss Wade just because his babbling about yoga dildos was unbearably endearing and twistedly hot. "We have other things. Dances underground, where the bombs haven't caved the shelters in. Radiation sunsets are truly beautiful."

"...wow," Wade said. "Can't imagine why you didn't go back."

There was something odd there. Nate's brain snagged on it. An implication, maybe, or a bit of passive aggressiveness. If he had time to think about it, he'd get it.

He didn't have time to think about it. The door of the station blew open, propelled by an immense concussive force. "Get down," Nate snapped, moving on instinct.

But Wade had instincts too. He was on his feet in seconds, two guns out, pointed at the squad of twenty DMC thugs who entered the building.

Not just thugs, Nate realized with a shock of icy terror. Mutants.

The one at the front, a white guy with frosted tips and a nasty smile, said, "Hi there, little bitch." Knives appeared in the air, forming as if from nothing, and threw themselves at Wade.

Nate tried to intervene - but the eyes of the mutant next to Knife-Thrower glowed, and he found himself forced to his knees. His hold on the T-O slipped long enough for it to creep up a vein. "What are you?" he gritted out.

_No one,_ the mutant said. _Peacekeepers._

As if from a very great distance, he heard Wade say, "Man, fuck this." And then the shooting started.

When he killed, Wade was beautiful to watch. He moved with single-minded fury. For a couple seconds Nate was terrified for him, but no matter how many shots he took, he didn't falter, not until the last DMC body fell to the floor with a thud.

_Even I can't kill me._

As Wade turned to him, breathing hard, Nate felt the dawning horror of what he'd just sat and watched. "Wade."

"Nate, buddy. Trust you to just sit back while I do all the hard work. Wiping the floor with bad guys get less fun as old age sets in?"

"They had someone holding me."

Wade's scarred-up face twisted in a hideous imitation of a grin. "So what you're saying is, I just saved you."

"In a manner of speaking. You might've doomed our political efforts."

"But nobly. Like Mario saves Princess Peach."

"There are twenty bodies around you. We should probably deal with them."

"Call the cops, who cares? I'll bet you anything their buddies come do the cleanup before anyone shows up. They don't like loose ends and they hate a mess." Wade tilted his head back and laughed. His throat was speckled with blood. "Kind of like you, if you'd gone all old-man fascist instead of old-man Jesus."

Nate hated that he had a point. DMC had chosen to try to assassinate them; that was, from Nate's point of view, a clear declaration of war. But of course DMC wouldn't be calling up CNN to complain. They simply couldn't afford to. "I...you have a point. Not about my personality. About DMC's goals."

"I told you, I'm like an ugly Syd Bristow." Wade put his guns back in their holsters. "C'mon, let's go home before Domino uses up all the hot water."

Domino was almost certainly asleep by now. Still, Nate let himself be led out of the depot. He felt - was this shock? It might be. It reminded him a bit of when he'd drunk all those beers in the hotel room, polishing his guns -

Not a euphemism, he told the part of his brain that was determined to imitate Wade -

and plotting his revenge. Except this time, the anger was centered on two targets instead of one: the DMC thugs, who were dead, and Wade, who blessedly wasn't. But not for lack of trying. Hence the anger.

They got back to Domino's and into their bedroom before Nate decided what he was going to do about it. He accessed the TK he'd had stolen from him back at the depot and used it to pin Wade to the wall.

"Before I've even gotten a chance to shower? Tsk tsk, Nate. That's not very hygienic of you at all. Who knows what kinds of cooties traitor-mutie blood has? Not to mention the potential for cross-contamination! You'll give me herpes."

"Who said I'm gonna touch your dick?"

Wade's smile had edges. "You always touch my dick when we're like this, pookums."

'Always' was an exaggeration, but - yeah, it was starting to feel that way. He couldn't help himself. Or he didn't want to. "Is this your way of telling me you don't want it?"

Wade thunked his head back against the wall and spread his legs wide. "No. Of course I want this. Pretty sure I could be ripped in half again and I'd still get a stiffy if you were planning on -"

Nate fell to he knees and Wade stopped talking, clicked his teeth together so hard it had to hurt.

Don't be an asshole, Nate told himself. But he couldn't hold back a little smirk at that. "Something going on up there? Bite your own tongue off?"

"Not as easy as it sounds, and I could still scream."

Wade was being macabre, trying to freak him out. Succeeding, too, though Nate didn't want him to know it. It wasn't the thought of a blood-filled mouth or whatever the fuck that was terrifying. It was the thought of Wade - alone, in pain. Screaming. Doing it to himself or letting someone else do it because he didn't give enough of a fuck to stop them.

Damn it. He leaned in and put his mouth on Wade's cock.

He wasn't good at this. He didn't think he was, anyway. It'd been a long time and it was always easy to get distracted. People talked about sex like it was relaxing, but to Nate it was a different kind of workout. Even with most of his power permanently focused on keeping himself alive, he couldn't hold his mind separate from a sex partner's. The better he was, the more sensation he engendered, the more distracting it would be.

But Wade didn't seem to mind the little inconsistencies produced by Nate's psychic overload, nor was he particularly stressful in the brain department. The shit Nate was getting from him was a lot like normal. It would've been heightened for most people. For Wade, it was just a different flavor of always-on.

And -

"Fuck, fuck, you're good at this." Wade'd been babbling for going on five minutes, as Nate worked his cock slowly and thoroughly. "Jesus, where the fuck did you learn - don't tell me, I wanna be able to look Cyclops in the eye at the next X-Thanksgiving. Ah, fuck, oh." Scarred fingers twisted in Nate's hair, then frantically petted, like he'd meant to be gentler all along. "Can I fuck your mouth? I don't have to. But I need, oh, God, I need something, let me fuck your mouth, please please please -"

In retrospect, this was the wrong fucking activity to pick if he wanted Wade to shut up. And it was also the wrong activity if he wanted Wade to understand why he was doing this.

Twenty-eight bullets in Wade's chest. Blood flying everywhere. Stupid, stupid motherfucker. Nate pulled away, sat back on his heels.

"Just let me - what the fuck, Cable."

Nate looked up at Wade, at the ugly, pissy face he was suddenly pulling, and found he didn't know what to say.

"Are you just - burning hot and cold for the fun of it? Larping Katy Perry? Trying to drive me crazy? The Canadian government got there before you did, let me tell you."

"You took unnecessary risks today."

"I - you - oh, okay. Thanks, _Professor X_. What the fuck?"

"You took thirty bullets in the space of a minute."

"And I'm fine now. Well, minus a really fucking expensive specialty seamstress bill. What's your point?"

He was aware - painfully so - that he didn't really have one. "I could have helped. Shielded you earlier, or -"

"You didn't move fast enough, Ace."

"I couldn't." He dug his fingers into Wade's thigh. "They had something - I couldn't move. They didn't think you were a threat. They managed to restrain me."

"Sexy," Wade said. "Well, don't worry, I'll always save your half-metal ass."

Nate shook his head. That wasn't his point, had never been. He was still pissed off, almost beyond belief; every time he thought he might be over it, he remembered seeing blood spray from Wade. Wade's own blood. Christ, he knew he couldn't die, but he just - he just -

"You said you wanted to fuck my mouth," Nate said. "So. What are you waiting on?"

"You're moodier than Edward Cullen, you know." With that nonsensical rebuke, Wade wrapped his hands around Nate's head, cradling him almost gently. He looked down at Nate with - confusion, Nate thought; he didn't like not understanding why Nate was pissed. Well, tough shit. He wouldn't get it as long as he kept seeing his own fucking body as a tool to beat other people with.

But he had no way to say that, wouldn't have known where to start if someone held a gun to his head. So instead he leaned into Wade's touch, opening his mouth so Wade could feed him his cock.

The anger didn't die down as Wade fucked him. Wade's hands were gentle, his babbling toned down to more normal sex talk: "So good, so good," and "Fuck, Nate, you look amazing." He probably did, but he was still pissed off, even as he closed his eyes and sucked Wade for all he was worth.

It was better, a bit, down here. He was surrounded by Wade, and by proof he was alive. He could feel Wade's thighs flex and listen to the stuttering of his breath when Nate dragged his tongue along the tip of his cock. He didn't have room to relive the moments when automatic rounds had stuck Wade's chest.

When Wade came on his tongue, when he let Nate bundle him into bed without reaching for him - maybe he'd learned that Nate didn't want this the way Wade did. Maybe he'd sensed some of the stupid fucking feelings and was now tactfully backing off so that Nate could deal with them.

Funny. Right. No, Wade had no fucking clue. He was just a dumbass whose desire for orgasms overrode his frustration with Nate, that was all.

Nate already knew he wouldn't be sleeping for awhile. He let himself out of the bedroom and sat on the couch, disassembling and cleaning each of his eight guns, trying to get his mind to calm the fuck down.

He'd fucked up his first command, kind of like this. He hadn't been fucking anyone in his squad, but he'd been frightened for them and had been angry when they'd put themselves at risk. With the perspective of thirty years, it seemed ridiculous; putting yourself at risk was the point of being a soldier. But back then - 

He'd been so fucking scared.

He'd tried it with Aliya, too. If he'd been a big gun, Aliya had been a lock-pick. She'd worked in black ops for years before they met, and while she scaled her work back a little after Hope was born - they both did - she till disappeared for days at a time, taking who the fuck knew what risks all on her own. So, yes, he'd tried to stop her.

She'd laughed in his face. Told him she'd stop when he gave up the whole fighting-Apocalypse thing. He couldn't, and she knew it. They'd come to an uneasy truce, eventually. There could be no truces with Wade, Nate knew. He wasn't even sure if it was possible for Wade to compromise. Could he change at all? Would he even remember the promises he'd made?

No; that was ridiculous. Of course he'd remember. He did, after all, remember Vanessa. He'd made promises to her that he'd tried to keep even in death. Maybe there just wasn't room for other promises, other people.

("Maybe you're being a self-pitying jerkoff," he could picture Wade saying. "You know, boy has a point," Aliya would say.

God, they'd love each other. Maybe that was the worst part of all of this.)

He finished up with his last gun and sat back on the couch, taking a few deep breaths. Wade was fine. Nate had rinsed the proof out of his mouth an hour ago. If Nate couldn't force Wade to behave, he could at least remind him of reasons to stay alive. And he'd married Wade; that was as strong a promise as either of them could make.

He'd fucking married Wade. Accidentally, but still. How had he married two separate people he had no hope of controlling? But then - he didn't want to control Wade, not really. Gag him and leave him tied up for a few hours, sure, but that would only keep him from doing something crazy for a few days, if that. He could never control Wade, not really.

But tying him up held appeal.

He started stroking his cock before he really realized what he was doing. It was the idea of tying Wade up, he thought, of being able to say where he went and when. The thought of being able to stop him from doing anything too fucked-up and self destructive.

No. That wasn't what had him reaching under his robe, pulling his cock out, tugging it to full hardness. The thought of caring for Wade in a "hog-tied and stowed away safe" kind of way was nice enough, sure. But thinking of Wade killing a bunch of DMC motherfuckers, unstoppable even by Nate's lofty standards, did it for him like nothing else.

_Even I can't kill me._

If he was insane, then he'd earned it; Nate couldn't deny that. He thought of Wade beating down the DMC psychic who'd held Nate prisoner, of the pressure that had eased even as Wade had almost decapitated her. He tugged his cock and thought of Wade fucking him after, still clearly high on adrenalin, shaking with need and babbling about the softness of Nate's mouth.

He had wanted to reach out so badly, right then. He'd wanted to pull Wade down on top of him, to have Wade eat his ass, fuck him into the mattress until his unfounded concerns about Wade's fragility disappeared. He'd wanted all that solidity, that grace, the sheer chaotic unkillable fact of him, for himself.

And he couldn't have it. This, he could have: the image of Wade burying three fingers in Nate and biting him as he came like that. But the reality -

Wade was still in love with Vanessa. He didn't want to fuck an old asshole from the future who was inexorably, horribly in love with him. It would be more than a disservice to both of them if Nate had Wade fuck him under false pretenses.

So Nate grabbed a tissue and came into it, sitting bare-assed on Domino's couch. With the ease of long practice, he forced his mind away from the twin topics of Wade and mortality.

He didn't come to bed that night. As far as he could tell, Wade didn't even notice.


	3. Lousy In A Fist Fight

Two days later, Domino stabbed a fork into her pile of pancakes and said, "So, I heard a rumor DMC is down a strike team."

"What kind of police state asshole bureau has a strike team?" Wade waved his ketchup-covered fork back and forth. "Like, seriously, what is happening here? Has anyone bothered to figure out just how far the judicial process has broken down in this reality? Where's the investigative reporting on all this? Fourth estate says what?"

"That rumor is correct," Nate said.

"The depot attack?"

"The very same."

"By the way you'd described it, I figured it was just a couple cops or something. Not a whole strike force."

Digging a blade into Nate's ribs would have been a less effective means of upsetting him. "They're very...effective."

"Scary. Cable means scary." Wade rolled up a pancake around some of his scrambled eggs. "But don't worry, baby, because I was on it."

Nate scowled. "Of course, next time they'll send a mutant specifically tailored to bring _you_ down."

"Lighten up, buttercup. That mutant doesn't exist. If it does? Huge game-changer. I win either way."

Nate felt reasonably certain that wasn't how any of that worked. But Wade was avoiding his gaze, tapping his foot on the floor: he was nervous, Nate thought, for a reason he couldn't quite divine.

"Be that as it may," he said finally, "if they couldn't immediately replace the people you killed, that's good news for us."

"Murder usually is." Wade pulled out his phone. "Ooh, hey, check it out."

Nate blinked at the text message Wade shoved in his face. _From: Sugarbear. Message: vote count up to 42. Good job, Wade._

He cleared his throat. "Sugarbear?"

"The chrome drone himself."

Colossus. Right. "We'll need fifty-two votes in the clear. We can't depend on the Vice President to deliver for us."

Wade didn't look up from his texting. "You never can. Not as dramatic that way."

"So we're still outnumbered," Domino said. "And all the easy ones have flipped or committed, right?"

Nate nodded.

She sighed. "I hate politics."

"I think we should sent Russell to Nevada," Wade said. "Have him fire-fist his way into a couple committed votes."

"Blackmail or intimidation would only invalidate the results," Nate said. "I know you don't want that."

"Ha! No, you're right, but it would be funny."

"Oh," Domino said. "Hey. That's a really good idea, actually."

"Of course it is. I'm a genius. Wait, what idea?"

"Russell's a witness to the DMC's depravity. A sympathetic witness - no offense."

"None taken. Some taken."

"I think you're very sympathetic," Domino said, patting Wade's hand, "But old asshole Senators probably wouldn't."

Nate's mind was already working through the implications in her statement. "You want us to tote Russell around."

"Pretty much."

"You've heard him talk, right?"

"Hey," Wade said sharply. "Russell's a good kid."

Nate barely glanced at him. "Yeah, I know." Now he did, anyway. "But he's not exactly, you know, nice."

"What if I took him on a talk show tour?" Domino said. "I went on Ellen a few years ago when we were doing early AirBnb ads, I still have her number."

Wade gasped. "You're friends with Ellen and you didn't tell me!"

"Yeah, 'cause I wanted to stay friends with her. But." Domino turned to Nate. "It would be pretty unlucky if Russel started demonstrating his Candy Shop cover or cursing out DMC's Director on live, nationally broadcast television. I think I should do it."

Nate nodded. "Good idea."

"Hey. As leader of X-Force, I get a say in this too!"

The corner of Domino's mouth curled. "Sure, boss. What do you say?"

Wade nodded slowly, looking like a bobble-head doll with a broken spring. "Domino. Your time has come. You are...America's Next Top Model."

"Okay, thanks. I'll let you guys know when I've scheduled us some airtime." She snagged Wade's last pancake.

"Hey!"

"Later," she said, and left.

"In the sitcom AU of our lives," Wade said, "she's our really annoying kid."

"If this were a sitcom from my era, one of us would have three arms. Radiation poisoning mutation."

"I never know how serious you are when you say stuff like that."

Nate bit back a smile. "Pretty sure you'd be our kid."

Wade gasped again, even showier this time, putting ketchup-smeared fingers over his cheeks. He looked ridiculous. Nate loved it.

"Dis. Re. Spect. Cable, you take that back."

"It's her house. She's the only one with a job."

"I'm freelance!"

He couldn't stop the laugh then. It was worth it for the way Wade smiled.

-

Domino delivered on her promise the next day. One of Ellen's guests dropped out ("coke-fueled three-day marriage-divorce culminating in a sky-written threesome proposition to Prince Harry and Princess Rachel-From-Suits," Wade told him, which explained absolutely nothing). Colossus sent Russell along with a stack of X-Men recruitment pamphlets; Domino tossed them in the garbage and played up the 'multiple generations of tragic tortured orphans' angle. The audience bought it hook, line, and sinker. Xavier had been paying for polling on the DMC issue for months; their numbers, Wade gleefully informed Nate, fucking shot up after the interview. 

"You know what just occurred to me?" Domino said that night over beer and Go Fish. "People might introduce their kids to me now. I'm so not the right person for that."

"Send 'em to Wade instead," Nate said. "Got any fives?"

"Toss out a fishing line," Domino said gleefully.

"I don't think anyone should send kids to me," Wade said. "Unless they want, you know, assassin training."

"What, you don't want practice for when you and Cable adopt a bunch of photogenic orphans?"

Wade flicked a card at Domino. "Can it."

"I would love to babysit for you," Dopinder said, "if you wanted. I have cousins, lots of them, and none of them died in my care."

"Thanks, Dopinder." Wade cupped his cheek and caressed his eye socket. It was insane to be jealous of that, Nate told himself as his grip on the cards tightened. 

"When you two get divorced, we should throw a double bachelor party," Domino said. "I know some guys who are down for anything if you get a little tequila in them."

"I know those guys too, Domino, they're my Uncle Larry and Cousin Brad." But Wade sounded intrigued. "Are we talking rager at home, or bowling alley?"

"My home is your home. Literally, right now, but also, as a tax thank-you thing."

"Aw, you're the best."

Nate stared at the table and didn't engage, doing his best to direct the mental energy in the room everywhere but at him. _My home is your home._ Well, he didn't want it to be. Not generally, though he had nothing against Domino, but especially not when an essential component of that home was sitting next to him, bumping his knee and jabbering about Cheeze Whiz pizza.

Wade really would be a good father.

He tossed his cards to the table and stood. "Gotta run."

"Where? Home Depot? If you're going to finally build me a portico, you should know, they legally count as structures and you have to get a permit. They don't accept sexual bribery."

"Great," Nate said. "I'm not going to Home Depot." He looked at each of them, felt the confusion radiating from Domino and Dopinder. "I - bye," he said, and made his escape.

Pathetic. Completely pathetic. Shame kept him at the park a few blocks away for the first hour or so; cowardice did the job for the rest of the day.

He had to go to bed eventually, so he did his usual routine, stripping down and lying on the edge of the bed where Wade was less likely to touch him. But Wade being Wade, he waited until Nate was drifting off to say, "I wrote a note to myself to apologize."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, all the kid jokes. Dick move, my bad, et cetera." The sheets shifted as Wade scooted over to him. "Not that we should raise kids, because any child of ours would undoubtedly have really bad skincare habits and the kind of killer instincts that get you expelled. But, given your tragic backstory, I shouldn't have turned it into a joke."

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing." Nate glanced at him. "About you."

Wade's face went through a complicated tumbling routine of emotions before landing on the one Nate had learned to recognize as pure, uncut evasion. "Well, obviously no one's lining up to give me a kid, but I don't care, I was ready to be a father before - all the other stuff. But hey, healing factor, you don't have to soothe my tender feelings - whereas you, obviously, are just a soft little marshmallow in a metal union suit, and you need someone to pet you while you sob tender tears of -"

Nate put a hand over his mouth. "You're forgiven. And I'm sorry. All you had to say."

He pulled his hand away. Instead of repeating after him, Wade stared at Nate's mouth and said, "Hey, wanna go down on me again?"

Nate had held the fantasy of Wade spreading him open in his mind - heart, sex drive, whatever - for awhile. He found himself thinking of it again now. He couldn't ever ask for that, but he could maybe have something similar. Maybe.

"I have a better idea," he told Wade. "Roll over."

It was kind of heartbreaking, the way he moved so quickly. Wade trusted him so much, and Nate was lying to him with every fucking word. 

"Tell me if you don't like this," Nate said, and pressed one firm hand into the back of Wade's neck.

Wade let out a low, shaking breath, dropping his head into the cushions. "Is this the part I'm not supposed to like?" he asked the mattress.

"Nah," Nate said, and used his T-O hand to spread Wade's ass, licking him firmly.

"Oh. Oh, shit."

"Want me to stop?"

Wade thunked his head a couple times against the mattress. "Fuck. No."

"Suit yourself," Nate mumbled, and got back to work.

Not his favorite sex act, really, to be on the giving end of. But Wade made it worth it. He moaned when Nate traced his scars with his tongue, cursed when Nate pressed a finger inside and licked around it. He humped the bed when Nate tongued him, muscles tense and shaking. Nate ran a hand over his back time and again, addicted to the texture of his skin, his smell, his insane babbling. He wanted to bury himself in that eager ass, fuck him till they were both too exhausted to move, but he'd settle for this: Wade coming around his fingers, Wade reaching out for him, Wade falling asleep with his head on Nate's shoulder.

-

Panic-inducing card games aside, the campaign was going great. They had two months to whip up votes for the bill. The House was taken care of; the Senate inched closer every day. It wasn't an issue people were okay with being undecided on. Wade had gotten into the habit of greeting Charles Xavier by saying, "Are you sure you can't just mind control the entire Senate?", but in its own way even that was a good sign. It meant he cared about the issue at hand and wanted to fight for it.

He had discovered that here in the past, he hated politics. But worse things happened, too. He kept falling into bed with Wade. Or. Well. He kept getting Wade off. "Falling into bed" was romantic phrasing for a decidedly unromantic arrangement. Nearly every time, after Wade had come, he'd go get himself off alone. Wade never commented on it. He thought about ending it, a few times, but he was all too willing to be used if the person using him was Wade. He never got past, "Maybe," and silence that Wade filled with insane suggestions of his own.

He loved that part. Wade's brain ping-ponged around like nothing he'd ever seen. "Yeah, it's a symptom of the whole cancer/healing factor thing," Wade said once when Nate tried to compliment him.

It had felt like someone nailed his tongue to a door. "Well," he'd managed to say. "It's. Entertaining."

He didn't try that kind of compliment again.

Still: time passed. The bill passed the House, then a month later it passed the Senate. The day the President signed it into law, the X-Men threw a party at their mansion. Not, Wade told him, "a boring, political party. Absolutely no one's toes are getting sucked at this one. Well, not unless tequila's involved. Or Colossus." In other words, they'd won, and now was the time to celebrate, without the people who'd made them hurt for it.

Two hours in, Nate felt pleasantly drunk and at peace with this fucked-up world. Wade was absolutely hammered.

"How much do you have to drink to stay like that?" Nate asked.

"Oh, soooo much. A bottle of vodka every, hm, one-two-three - ten minutes. Ish." He slurred the _ish_ , leaning into Nate's shoulder. "Worth it! We worked hard. Gotta take a load off. Ha, load. You know whose load I want to take?"

Nate looked around. Emma Frost stood in the corner, exchanging words with Colossus; Negasonic and her girlfriend were glued to each other's sides, playing some handheld games; Russell was telling Domino about something that involved a lot of lewd hand gestures. No one seemed to be paying much attention to Wade, certainly not with the sidelong glances that said they expected mayhem.

They were comfortable. They were all so fucking comfortable. If Nate hadn't had this disgusting mess of emotions sitting in his chest, he'd probably be comfortable too.

"Hey! Nate! Stop telling the audience about your pathos! _You know whose load I wanna take_?"

"Whose," Nate said, feeling the weight of inevitability.

"Yours," Wade said, and slumped against him.

It was always so fucking good, being with Wade. But now - Wade was happy and it showed. He was sweet like this, gentle. Most people Nate had talked to didn't seem to think Wade was capable of being like that, but Nate knew better, Nate -

Loved him. And saw the best in him. Never even asked if this was how he'd been with his girlfriend, all-in and joyous and fucking loving.

He was so fucking pathetic. And he knew it, could picture Aliya ribbing him for it, even as he listened to Wade reminisce about gangsters he'd killed with poison lip gloss.

"- should fuck me in Colossus' bed."

Nate blinked. "No."

"Sure? It would be gooooood."

"You're drunk, Wade." And Nate was compromised by his own fucking feelings.

Wade normally would take that kind of thing with a shrug, but the booze must've changed more than Nate realized. Wade stared at him with a half-sad, half-appalled expression on his face, then said, "You're not my real dad."

"I. What?"

Wade hopped off his lap and ran off to talk to Negasonic. Right, then. Just Wade being Wade, and the party wasn't going to stop for that.

Hours later, Colossus stopped by. Nate had long since given up on being social and was sitting in one of the mansion's many window seats, a glass of juice - freshly pressed fruit juice, more precious than a barrel of the nicest whiskey - in one hand. "Cable. I have something for you." He lowered Wade carefully to the ground.

He wasn't - moving. "What happened?"

"He jumped off third story, careful to go head-first. Give it another few minutes." For a second, watching Colossus stand over Wade, Nate had the insane image of him in some old-school nanny getup, wringing his hands. "He tried to kiss me. He told me he thought I'd be generous lover, quote, unlike some bad-tempered metal Terminator dicksnacks, end quote."

Nate winced. "Christ."

"You want me to call the Professor instead? We can take care of him."

Nate didn't want to examine the irritation that popped up in him, thinking about that. "I got it. Don't worry about it."

"Hey...don't worry 'bout a thing," Wade mumble-sang. He cracked one eye open. "Oh. It's you."

Nate didn't glance over to where Colossus was edging away. Coward. "Yeah, it's me. How about we go home?"

"Home is where the heart is. And hearts..attack." Wade sat up. "Sure. Take me home, hot stuff."

"I'm going to ignore that you said that. I'm doing us both a favor." Nate stood and offered Wade a hand.

He took it, and then he held onto it, in a bone-crushing grip Nate couldn't bring himself to break. This wasn't what he'd planned, but then nothing with Wade ever was. He got them both home and wasn't even surprised when Wade jumped him immediately, hooking his dumb gangly legs around Nate's hips and forcing Nate to support them both.

"I just want you to know," Wade said, "I'm fine with you being short. I think it's much more interesting this way."

"Uh-huh." Nate backed Wade against a wall, using the leverage to get his teeth into Wade's neck. 

Wade gasped and arched his back, pretty as a picture. "Please, please tell me you're gonna fuck me. I know you have hangups about being a gay sex virgin, but it's okay, I'll help you through it. I'll be your cock guide. Also, you can't even hurt me that much, I swear."

Every part of that was too ridiculous to dignify with a response. But. "I'm not a -"

"Gay sex virgin? More convincing if you can get the words out." Wade reached for him, his eyes on Nate's lips.

No. Nate ducked his head just in time, kissing Wade's neck. "I'm not." Bite. "A gay sex." Lick. "Virgin." A kiss, gentle, right on Wade's pulse point. To bring the idea home, he thrust against Wade, just hard enough to rub their cocks together.

"Then come in my ass, big boy, and prove it."

He was sober now. That much was obvious, looking at him. He was also nervous - because Nate hadn't let him touch, wouldn't fuck him. Nate'd tried to hide it. He knew how stupid it was, this idea that fucking Wade, or kissing him, somehow crossed a line all the other shit didn't.

It was stupid. It was a very stupid _feeling_ , and it butted up against all Nate's other stupid, bad-idea feelings. But Christ, Nate didn't want Wade to look like that, like he expected to get hurt. Not because of Nate's dumb shit.

"Yeah, all right," he said, and watched the giant smile take over Wade's face. 

"Take me to bed or lose me forever, stud," Wade said, humping Nate's leg with demented abandon.

Nate took them both to bed. He cheated a bit, using his TK to keep them both upright. Wade gasped, "Sexy psychic motherfucker," when Nate threw him on the bed, and -

Spread his legs. Put his hand on his cock. Arched his back, head thrown towards the ceiling. Nate had meant to climb right on top of him, but for a moment he felt rooted to the spot, cock throbbing as arousal rushed through him. Fuck, but he wanted this. 

Wade was beautiful like this. Fine, Nate thought Wade was beautiful in general. He was a mix, as old books might say, of the sacred and the profane. He was so fucking ridiculous, uncouth and baffling, but to Nate he was special. Unique. Surprising, but not like finding the last of your canned goods supply had rotted through; more like the first days of spring, when the Earth herself proved that despite everything, she planned to continue with her schedule of life. Wade was the first sprigs of green pushing through mutilated muddy ground. A sign of hope, beautiful and arresting.

Time travel had turned him into a fucking romantic. And meanwhile there was Wade, jacking it on the bed, mouth running and sending a stream of filthy nonsense into the air.

He only really had one choice here. "Hey, gorgeous," he said, climbing onto the bed, knocking Wade's legs far apart. This was better: he lay sprawled beneath Nate, wide-eyed, tense and waiting. "Shut the fuck up for a second, okay?"

Then he leaned down and took Wade's cock in his mouth.

Only for a few minutes. Only long enough to get the taste, the feel, as Wade gasped above him and - didn't say a word. Because Nate had asked, told him, to shut up. Fuck.

He pulled back. Wade's cock popped out of his mouth, wet, so fucking hard. "Talk," Nate said, and pressed two fingers against Wade's ass, slowly making his way in.

Wade looked up, narrowed his eyes. Said, "What if I want to talk about how you make me feel like a virgin, touched for the very first time? I think I should add cone bras to my costume. I'd be a hit with the mid-40s female demographic, which is all I care about."

Nate couldn't stop the smile that rose at all that shit. "Sure. Keep going. Tell me about the cones."

"I can't. Fuck, I can't." Wade dropped his head and lifted his hips, pressing back into Nate's fingers. _Fucking himself_ on Nate's fingers. "Harder, c'mon. I won't feel it tomorrow, but I want to feel like I might, you know? Give it to me. Hard."

It was an order Nate couldn't refuse. He slicked himself up and pressed into Wade, too much and too fast, but Wade didn't care. No. That wasn't quite right. He did care; he loved it.

"Harder," he said as Nate pressed into him. He was tight and hot, spread himself wide for Nate and then curled his legs around Nate's hips to press him in further. "More, c'mon, give it to me - I want -"

Nate thrust once, hard, jostling the bed.

"Yes," Wade hissed. "More. Just like that."

It felt like fighting together: effortless in an entirely unearned way, brand new and yet achingly familiar. He watched Wade writhe beneath him and thought of fireworks, the sunset over one of his timeline's ruined cities. Predictably gorgeous, but no less breathtaking for it. Wonderful. Memorable.

In Wade's case, memorably fucking filthy-mouthed.

"Fuck me, fuck me, come on, bottom out in me, make me beg for it," Wade said. His fingers were twisted in the sheets, his scarred face twisted and pressed into a pillow. "Make me take you, come on - ah, fuck yes." He moved against Nate as he snapped his hips, merciless. "I'm all yours, all here for you, make me feel it, make me _know_ it, come on, Cable -"

He fucked Wade into the mattress, then he flipped him over and fucked him even harder, hands digging into his hips until the skin tore. Wade didn't want tenderness, that much was obvious, but Nate gave it to him anyway when he was too fucked out to object. When his ass and cock were raw, when he'd come twice on himself, messy and still desperate for more, Nate slowed down and fucked into him with gentle, rocking thrusts. He scored his fingers down Wade's spine, kissed him and bit him and obeyed every single little demand until Wade was sobbing beneath him, wrung out. Fucked out. 

Only then did he allow himself to come. The wave rose over him, wiping him out with sensation. He blacked out a bit, for a second, hands on Wade's hips, babbling Wade's name.

"And they say marriage ruins your sex life," Wade mumbled into the mattress.

Nate came back to himself enough to make a few basic observations: he was soaked in sweat, his cock was softening rapidly but might actually be chafed, Wade's asshole was blown wide and puffy, Wade was absolutely covered in come. They were disgusting.

"If you leave," Wade said, "I'm going to hunt you down and kill you. Won't be hard if you're in your bedroom. Wouldn't be that hard if you were in Hong Kong, either."

Nate wanted to tell him that he heard the bitter edge of self-loathing in that declaration, that he didn't care. He wanted to remind Wade that he knew about his talents and his fucked-up-ness and he liked him anyway. Loved him. Fuck it: he loved him.

That was exactly and precisely why he couldn't say a fucking word. Instead, he lay down next to Wade, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself enough to sleep.

-

"Speaking of Hong Kong," Wade said in the morning. "Funny story. Gotta go."

He kissed Nate's cheek like he was off to work for the day - which, in a weird way, he was. Nate's tongue tripped over itself in his mouth. He didn't get out, 'Don't go, I love you.' He didn't even manage 'have a good trip'. Wade left and Nate didn't say a fucking thing at all.


	4. God Never Makes Mistakes

He half expected Wade to just fuck off semi-permanently. They still had two months to go with this farcical marriage; Wade could have picked up enough work to keep himself busy in that time. Nate almost wouldn't have blamed him if he had. 

Instead, he picked an option that was, if anything, worse. He did jobs, but he kept dropping by Domino's sticking his head in to say hi to Nate and bringing the kids from the X-Mansion by. He never stayed the night - never stayed long enough for Nate to even ask him to stay the night - but he was there just often enough to remind Nate of what he was missing, what he couldn't quite have.

Case in point: two weeks before they were due to get divorced, Wade had dragged pretty much everyone who was still speaking to him into a poker game.

Colossus had objected to teaching the kids poker: "It is game for adults with crass history, Wade!" Wade had given him a sly smile and said, "Then you'd better be around to make sure I don't teach them something crass, huh?" And so Wade had gotten his poker night with all his favorite people.

All his favorite people, and Nate, his devoted husband who he hadn't so much as glanced at in the last three hours.

"I fold," Domino said.

"No way!" Wade said.

"Good," Russell said. "It was unfair to let you play to begin with."

"Oh, I don't fold because I'm losing. I have a winning hand. I just also have a date I'm going to be late for."

"Domino," Wade whined. "The pizza's not even here yet!"

"I'll stay next time, don't worry."

Nate watched the complicated interplay: Wade's distraction, his pouting, then his perking up when Domino patted his shoulder; the way Negasonic rolled her eyes, but also scooted in to try to steal Domino's chips; the way Colossus jostled Wade's leg under the table in reassurance. This was a dumb, fucked-up family. But it _was_ a family.

"Now I'm all alone," Wade said. "Abandoned. Woe is me."

Nate snored. "Everyone else is still here, you overdramatic dildo."

"Aw, snookums, I'm glad you care." Wade threw his cards down, shoulder hunching defensively. "Call. Throw. What's the word for when you're definitely going to lose?"

"It's, here you go Russell, all my money is yours."

"Not so fast, flame brain." Negasonic threw her cards down. "Full house."

"Not fair! You cheated!"

"Did not."

"Did too!"

Wade watched them bicker with a bemused smile. But he was sitting away from Nate, still visibly tense. He hadn't taken the mask off tonight. Nate should've recognized that as a warning sign, but -

Well, he was a dumbass. And maybe he'd hoped it didn't mean what it did.

Eventually they kicked the X-Men out, and then it was just Wade, flicking cards at the wall in that pissy way that meant he was convincing himself to do something stupid.

"Hey. Take the mask off."

"No, I don't think I will."

"Not even for a fuck?"

Normally, that was the kind of crassness that got Wade going. Now, though, Nate didn't even have to try to skim his mind to know it had the opposite effect. "Fuck off, _Nathan_ ," Wade said, and took the short way out of the apartment, hopping off the three-story balcony.

He heard a crack on the pavement that was almost certainly bone, muttered cursing - and then Wade was gone. Damn it.

Nate looked around. Cards lay on the floor; the kids had tracked mud in hours ago. Cheeto dust and pizza crumbs dotted the table. Domino would be pissed at him if he didn't clean up, and rightly so.

He didn't have the energy to. It was like Wade had taken the whole point of this place with him when he left, yet again. Domino could go ahead and be pissed; he was going to bed.

-

"God, you're pathetic," Domino said the next morning. "Here, wipe down the table, I'll put the empties in recycling."

He did what she told him, didn't bother arguing.

-

Two months turned into one month, and their time was up. Domino told Nate as much, then added, "Wade said he'd get the paperwork. I don't know if you want to try to get it too, or...?"

"If he said he'll get it then he'll get it," Nate said, much more harshly than the situation warranted. That was a total fucking lie and he knew it - and he knew Domino knew it, too, but she only shrugged and said, "Suit yourself."

So they were getting divorced. Fine. He'd already known it would happen. But because he was an idiot - because he was in love - he held out hope that maybe Wade would just forget to pick up the papers, maybe things could go back to being normal -

Maybe he could touch Wade again, kiss his shoulder and fuck him like an actual husband would -

Right up until the moment Wade, in his merc uniform, served him divorce papers in the hallway of their home.

"You can't be serious," Nate said, staring at the envelope.

"As a heart attack," Wade said. "You know, on someone who's not me. The first cut is the deepest. Hit me with your best shot. Here, I have a Bic." He pulled a pen out of his costume and shoved it at Nate.

Nate caught the pen, and Wade's hand, against his chest. His heart had started beating double-time, even as he thought - no. This could still be fixed. "Wade. We should talk."

"What's to talk about?" Fucking liar. "It's fine. I'm looking forward to being, legally, solo. Don't worry, though, even Beyoncé did a reunion set eventually."

"Wade." He sounded desperate even to his own ears, pathetically needy. "Just - can't we. Aren't things fine how they are?"

"I got begbugs in a German hostel a week ago, Nate. Some pigs are more equal than others."

And, yeah, Nate had noticed that Wade was making even less sense than usual, which meant he was upset, too. But he probably just hadn't expected to have to talk Nate into signing. Why would he care, otherwise? He just fucking wouldn't. Nate knew the truth, could feel the resentment and irritation coming off him. Maybe the real insanity had been the moments Nate had thought they really had something.

He grabbed the papers and used the wall to sign them. One, two, three initials, full signature at the end, and he and Wade were no longer legally responsible for each other. "Fine, asshole. Here."

Wade took the envelope and set it down carefully on the hallway table, tucked beneath a vase of lilies. He turned back to Nate, slamming one hand out just in time to keep Nate from closing the door on his face, and pulled his mask off.

Shit, he'd been crying.

But Nate only had a second to absorb it before Wade was shoving Nate backwards into their bedroom, pushing Nate against the wall and dropping to his knees. Nate could've thrown him across the room if he wanted - almost did, when Wade looked up at him and smiled in a way that was almost cruel.

"Hey, so, I know this is disgusting for you." He unzipped Nate's pants. "But, just like Jumbo Jack in eighth grade told me when he stole my lunch every day: suck it up, buttercup."

And then he took Nate's cock in his mouth.

Nate was still soft, mostly, thanks to the panic and misery. But the fact of Wade's mouth on him, the feel of his hands on Nate's thighs, the way he stared up at Nate like he was waiting for - fuck, he didn't know and it didn't even matter. Anything related to Wade was a turn-on, to a terrifying degree, but this was perfect: Wade on his knees, cock in his mouth, looking like he'd die before being anywhere else.

"Not disgusting," he finally managed to say. "Wade, you're not - you're never. You're just not."

Wade's mouth was too full, but he mumbled, "Shut up," anyway, pinching Nate's thigh.

They shouldn't be doing this. Fuck, Nate wanted it so much, but he knew it was a mistake even as he fucked his way into Wade's mouth, cock fully hard faster than he'd have thought possible. He felt Wade's tension like it was his own, knew he was walking the knife's edge and ruining his own life and, basically, behaving like the biggest fucking moron he'd always told himself he wouldn't be. 

Didn't matter. What mattered was that he could catch Wade's hand in his own, tightening his grip to bone-crushing when Wade tried to pull away. What mattered was Wade bobbing his head, fucking his own mouth with Nate's cock, until Nate got the bright idea to touch him. Bumpy skin, weirdly soft ears, and he felt the moment Wade realized what Nate was doing, excitement shivering in both their minds like a live wire.

He fucked Wade's mouth. Slowly, carefully, but not really kindly, because Wade didn't want kindness and Nate didn't particularly want to give it. He pushed Wade where he wanted him, stared at his lips stretched around Nate's cock and tried to remember everything, the smell, the feel, the way Wade closed his eyes and gasped when Nate started to come.

He already knew he wasn't going to get this again. Wade waited down there, milking Nate until there was nothing left, then stood. He was hard in his costume and his eyes were wet again. When Nate reached for him, he shied away.

"See ya," Wade said. "Wouldn't want to be ya."

Move, you idiot, Nate thought at himself. He didn't move. He stood there, palms braced against the wall, and watched Wade leave him for good.

-

"I'm fine."

"Sure, buddy." Russell patted his shoulder. "It's not like you lost the hottest piece of ass this side of Justin Timberlake, or anything."

"Who? Never mind. Jesus, it's none of your business. You're a kid."

"Just 'cause I'm still a trainee! Pssh. I could drink if I was still in New Zealand, you know."

Nate took another long drink of his - he didn't remember what it was called. Fruity alcohol. "Well, you're not, so cheers."

Russell scowled at him. Nate bit back another sarcastic remark. Wade would never forgive him if he was mean to his - Wade would -

_Wade._ Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It's okay to cry," Russell said. "I totally won't take pictures or spread gossip."

"You're lying," Nate said heavily. Worst part was he didn't even really care. He'd lost his wife because he couldn't stand the thought of losing Wade, and now he'd lost Wade because he was a fucking coward. Maybe he'd always been a coward. Maybe he hadn't gone back to his own fucking time to begin with because he was scared of Aliya, of what she'd think of the man he'd become since her death.

"You know, it's weird though." Russell bit his lip and stared into space. "'cause I'd have said Wade loved you, you know? Like, Golden Girls loved you. He talks about you all the time."

"Wade talks a lot of shit."

"Yeah, but most of that doesn't make any sense. When he talks about you, it's boring shit like, oh, Cable made me pancakes, or oh, don't you think his hair is cute? It's not, by the way. Makes you look like one of those America First guys. Or a lesbian."

"I miss him," Nate said, and downed his drink in one go.

"Wild. Let's get hammered." Russell tossed down his Shirley Temple and grinned at Nate hopefully.

He wanted to tell the kid to go away so he could marinate in misery, but - damn it, Wade wouldn't kick Russell out. So Nate wound up having a ridiculous sleepover instead, waking up to Domino staring at him with the most judgmental look he'd ever seen, on anyone.

"You should talk to someone. Not me; I almost flunked psych. But, you know, someone."

"Thank you for the commentary. In my time, we'd simply process our grief in solitude. Until we died."

"See, to me, that sounds like an excuse to be a coward, which would be embarrassing just generally, but is mega, uber-embarrassing when it's about _Wade_. Get it together, man. I'm going to start charging you rent." And with that, she left.

It was an excuse to be a coward, of course. Nate let Weasel give him jobs, menial work of dispatching a corrupt city worker or ensuring a mafia enforcer made his court date. It was boring, soul-killing stuff, but in that sense he fit right in with the rest of the mercs. Wade had always been an outlier, a lunatic splash of brightness against the leather-and-no-personality backdrop of mercenary life. Without Wade there with him, Nate found himself fading into the background, another hired gun who showed up, took assignments, and fucked off till the next one.

Domino ignored him after that, which suited him just fine. He started sending her checks for fair market rent and spent as much of his time working as possible. Two months passed like that, with him punching numbers and doing his best to forget he'd ever hoped for anything else.

He didn't forget, of course. But hey: he tried.

Two months in and he'd started to think about letting himself get a beer gut and just give up. In the spirit of that, he was sitting in front of the TV, watching the babbling morons this decade called 'news'. They were talking about a hurricane - one of many, Nate knew from history, of increasing intensity and deadliness. Hurricane Charlotte was leaving devastation in the Carolinas, the newscaster said -

(She didn't hide how pleased she was about the ratings this disaster would generate, Nate thought, taking another swig of beer.)

\- and casualties were mounting. Volunteers were already heading down from further north.

There was no point to it, Nate thought. This hurricane would be topped by the next one, and the next, and the next. The whole swathe of land that was colored red on their little weather map would be lost to the sea before the century was out.

"My pops went back for his sister," a teenage girl on the television said. "She - she lived down by the beach. I don't think they're coming back."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Nate grabbed his go bag and went downstairs, hotwiring the first car he came across.

-

He called the rest of the team - the X-Force, whatever - on his way down. Domino was apparently already there; she'd been rerouted to Raleigh-Durham International Airport just before the storm hit. Dopinder started driving immediately. Well, almost immediately.

"I could have driven both of us, Cable," he said. "You have crushed my warrior spirit. I hope to see the bodies of at least two or three people."

"Just get there, will you?" Nate said, and hung up.

Colossus, Negasonic, and Yukio took the jet: that was the team. Wade's number went straight to voicemail and had for weeks now. He left a message, of course, but he knew Wade wasn't gonna listen to it.

Still: they had a few people, which was better than the dungaree-wearing optimists out there with their motorboats and complete lack of tactical experience. In Nate's timeline, storms like this lashed the middle of the continent with ever-increasing regularity. He knew how to deal with this kind of shit. He'd deal with it again, and maybe it would be enough of a distraction to make him forget about Wade for awhile.

It didn't take him long to find out how wrong he was. "Oh my God, we're surrounded by idiots," Negasonic said.

They'd gone to a small town on the North Carolina coast. Floods had rendered the roads impassable, but that wasn't stopping the people with their Earth-killing trucks and SUVs. "There's a whole dock of boats!" she added, sonically powering away water as Colossus grabbed stranded cars and threw them up in the air. Yukio and Nate were working as a team to settle them on higher ground, but half of them were populated by jackasses who'd run away the second they were safe, before Nate could even offer them passage.

"Just keep going," Nate said. "Eye's going to pass over in an hour, we need to finish this."

"How can you tell?"

"Just can." And he'd picked up a radio report a few minutes ago. "Come on, let's get that bus. The one stuck on a branch." He'd learned quickly that these bulkier vehicles were almost impossible to stop once they'd begun moving in water.

It happened too quickly to make any other decision. One moment, he was lifting the bus with Yukio, aiming for a hill several yards off. The bus was full of kids a little younger than Russell, who stared down at the team with wide eyes. The next moment, the massive steel gas station sign Nate was standing next to began to crumble.

Only Nate stood in its path. Yukio couldn't hold the bus up on her own, and if they didn't get those kids to high ground, they'd die. So Nate ignored the creaking.

"Cable!" Colossus yelled. "Get clear of sign! You will die!"

No. The bus. He pushed his TK further, felt the ready-to-snap tension of balancing this effort with holding back the virus. He had no space, no time, to do anything about the sign. He began to lower the bus on top of the hill, concentrating to hold it steady.

" _Nate_!" someone yelled, voice thick with panic.

Steel snapped. The sign came down. A massive weight hit him, and pain shot through him. He lost his hold on the bus at the last moment: it fell the last three feet.

Children screamed; so did Russell. Nate's face was pressed into mud. Distantly, he thought he should do something about that. He should -

_Aliya, here I come._

He passed out.

-

"Like that scene from the first Superman. Yes. Hit him, then kiss him. Who turns down Lois Lane? No one. It's fine."

Wade. He tried to make himself pass out again just then, cowardice overwhelming him. But of course, Wade was too observant to miss the moment he woke up. "You motherfucker! Don't you dare pretend you're passed out again! If you get much more brain damage I'll have to sell you to the X-Men!"

"Doesn't work that way," Nate said, opening his eyes.

He was lying in a field. The ground beneath him felt wet and cold. Based on the clouds overhead, they hadn't left hurricane country, but it wasn't raining. "What happened?"

"Storm showed up and made the _real_ storm pick a different path. Show-off. Also, you almost fucking died, because you're a goddamn dipshit who thinks a bus full of Insane Clown Posse fans is more important than your own life."

"Didn't have time. Had to save them."

"Fuck you."

He realized belatedly that Wade was holding a machete, not quite pointed at Nate's own chest. "Why are you here? And why do you have that?"

"Stole it off a hog farmer."

"Not an answer, Wade."

"Not my boss, _Nate_."

Nate closed his eyes again, briefly, searching for patience or forbearance or - something. Anything.

"You're a fucking jackass," Wade muttered.

"One of us has a machete and is threatening the other."

"I'm not threatening you! I'm protecting you! I thought I'd have to cut your _arm_ off because you were _pinned under a fucking light pole_ , you dumb fake Terminator moron!"

"Could've just left me there."

"Uh-uh, nope, in this marriage only one of us is allowed to be the suicidal angst-muffin, and I landed the role way before you came along. Deal with it."

"Angst-muffin."

"You heard me."

Yeah. He had. And now it was cowardice that kept him from opening his eyes. The same old fucking fear, rising in his chest and choking him - though part of that had to be the bruising, too. Now that he was awake he noticed that he hurt like hell.

Finally, he managed to say, "We're not."

"Staying in this shithole? I know."

"Married, Wade."

The silence that wrapped around them felt more deadly than being in the eye of a hurricane had. For a moment Wade said nothing, didn't even breathe. His mind felt like a swarm of furious flies. Nate couldn't think of anything to do, so he just lay there, hoping Wade would go away.

"You're a fuckstick," Wade said finally. The tip of the machete pressed against Nate's chest, lifting and -

Slicing his shirt off?

"Wade."

"Shut up. I want to - oh, good, your ribs are still on the inside. Colossus wasn't sure."

The tattered fabric that had been Nate's shirt only moments ago fluttered in the wind. "We're not married," he said again. He probably had a concussion; it felt like he did. But he needed to make that point very clear. 

"Fuck you."

"Fine." Nate would welcome it. He'd always welcome it. "But we're not married. You served me divorce papers, you fucking - impossible - you served me _divorce papers_."

"You sound brain damaged. Who's the president?"

"We're not married anymore, Wade! You shouldn't even be here! Endangering yourself, interfering with my - "

"A of all, I never sent the papers back to my lawyer, so fuck you and joke's on you because we still are. B of all, this is what marriage means! Standing by your man! Like Beyoncé before me! Keeping him from stealing my glory by doing some stupid, suicidal stunt!"

"It wasn't suicidal."

"Bullshit. I saw the sign fall. You didn't even try to move away."

"I was concentrating."

"You're forgetting I know how powerful you are." The flat of the machete tapped against Nate's chest. "You could've moved. You didn't. Now's a really bad time to have time traveler survival guilt, you know."

Ah. "That's not it."

"Well, great, tell a therapist, then. My point is, I saved you because you're an idiot. Tell me thank you and let me go."

Why did everyone keep telling him to get a therapist? "No one's stopping you from going anywhere." 

"You are, because you still look pathetic and broken."

"The ribs'll take a few days." Or weeks, but there was no fucking way Nate was giving Wade that much ammunition. 

"Fine, you twisted my arm. I'll nurse you back to health with the uniform and everything, but if you call me 'wifey' the deal is off." A pause. "Unless you do it while you're blowing me, I guess."

He forced himself to say it again, the only thing that mattered in this current fucked-up reality. "We're not married. Not really."

"Fuck you."

"Deliver the papers. I don't want - I can't do this." He couldn't keep pretending, couldn't endure another fucking series of letdowns and reminders that they weren't on the same page as far as emotions went. 

"And here I thought you'd be up for one last pity fuck for the crossover event."

Nate blinked. "What?"

"X-Force assembled, Nate - thank you for that, by the way. And Storm's here, so it counts as a crossover. It totally counts."

Nate picked through the details of Wade's babble, bit by bit, looking for what had made him feel like he'd just fallen on his ass. "Pity fuck?"

"A man who's been doing it for six months shouldn't need it defined. Do they not have sex ed in the future?"

"I know what a pity fuck is." 

"Well." The machete moved away from his chest; Nate tried to repress the shit-stupid part of him that missed the pressure. "My mistake. Later."

But he'd thought it through, and his conclusion made hope race through him, sending his heart pounding. He opened his eyes then, feeling like he was jumping out of a no-grav plane. "Pity fuck. Wade, wait, stop." Wade had his back to Nate and looked ready to walk away. His shoulders were stiff and straight in that way that Nate knew meant he was upset. His costume was spattered with mud and blood, cut up in six different places, and Nate loved him so much he could barely breathe from it.

"What," Wade said flatly.

"It wasn't a pity fuck." His throat tightened; he forced himself to keep talking. "I didn't - want to take advantage of what was on offer. I'm in love with you, it wasn't fair to you to hide it. If you'd fucked me thinking it was just some casual thing for me, I couldn't -"

Wade's lips were dry and scratchy. His cheeks were wet. His weight in Nate's lap almost made him topple over, but he reached out with his arms and his TK, and he made it work.

"Jesus fucking Christ with a double-ended dildo," Wade breathed when they broke apart. 

Nate couldn't have this conversation with half of Wade's face still covered by the mask. He hooked his fingers under it and pulled it off. "There you are."

Wade had been crying for awhile, based on the red eyes. Even as Nate watched, another tear welled up. "Fuck you," he said, and sniffled.

"Yeah," Nate said. "That's what I'm getting at."

"Fuck," Wade said. His eyes dropped to Nate's lips again. "I can't fucking believe you."

"How's it feel to have the tables turned?"

Nate couldn't hold back the smile at Wade's indignant glare, his furious sniffle. He kissed Wade through a mumbled comeback.

It was a two-hour flight, courtesy of the X-Men, back to Domino's apartment. Nate felt the whole time like he might crawl out of his own skin. He and Wade sat next to each other, and he could feel Wade's arousal, his excitement, his confusion, his fear. Fuck, his fear. He wanted to - had to - fix that. He needed to make Wade _understand_.

They got home and he pressed Wade against their bedroom door, kissing him as deeply as he knew how. It had been so fucking long since he'd done this with his whole heart, with honesty. It thrilled him down to his bones when Wade shivered, moaned, reached out to Nate with newly weak hands.

"Dreamed about this," he said, touching Wade's collarbone.

Wade pulled him towards the bed, sat down so his face was eye level with Nate's cock. "Bullshit," he said, and pulled Nate's pants down.

Nice try, Nate thought, and used his TK to toss Wade further up the bed. "No bullshit. I'm serious. Dreamed about this, too." He kicked Wade's legs apart and settled between them, Wade's cock nestled into his ass, kissing Wade again.

The shock was wearing off, replaced by the kind of impossible hunger that could rise up and consume a person. Nate didn't understand how he'd waited this long, couldn't imagine what the fuck he'd been thinking. Kissing Wade felt like voluntarily hopping into a river full of man-eating sharks, and he did it over and over, joy bubbling up in his chest. This was what he'd wanted, Wade's ridiculously distractable kisses, his hands on Nate, not having to worry about what he might give away or accidentally promise. Wade wanted this. _This_ : the emotion in Nate's eyes, on his lips, the feelings he'd never been fully capable of concealing.

"Should've told me," Wade muttered. He arched his back, his cock dragging against Nate's skin.

Nate didn't hide his shiver. "Couldn't. I'm a coward."

"Nah," Wade said. "You're just...damaged. Like a Ken doll on a hot burner."

"Jesus." Nate shook his head, but he didn't stop kissing Wade, didn't pull away from him. His costume was blessedly easy to get off, and after that it was just Wade: dirty, fucked up, eminently fuckable. Nate kissed his chest, his hip, moving everywhere at once, weirdly scared Wade would change his mind.

No. He was really fucking tired of being scared. He took a deep breath, pressed his face against Wade's bumpy stomach, and said, "Wanna fuck me?"

Wade let out a choked-sounding noise and rolled his hips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, Nate, please."

He cupped a hand behind Wade's head and kissed him, gentle and then not so gentle, urging Wade's tongue into his mouth. Wade was so good at this, obsessively so; he fucked Nate's mouth exactly as dirty as he wanted, pulling himself up and rolling them without breaking the kiss. 

"How rough do you want it?" he said, rubbing a hand up and down Nate's side. He was preoccupied with the point where the T-O began mangling his flesh, kept touching it with feather-light but persistent brushes of his fingers. Nate had always had a thing for that, rarely found people who didn't shy away from it; now, he couldn't hold back a moan as Wade's fingers played with the seam of flesh and metal. 

"Whatever you want," he managed to say. "Wade. Anything."

Wade looked a bit like he'd been hit on the head with a length of steel pipe. "Careful what you promise, I might think you're serious."

Nate marshaled his senses long enough to glare at Wade and say, "Good."

Wade let out a breath. "Fuck. Okay. Just -" He moved down Nate's body. "Lube. Do you have -"

Nate passed him the little tub of lubricant and touched Wade's head, resting at his hip. "You don't actually have to."

"If you take this from me right now, I will throw a complete, Willow-from-Buffy style tantrum. World-ending evilness and all." He petted Nate's hip, weirdly delicately, before pushing a pillow under his hips. "You're just - "

"Intimidating?"

"Small." Wade cocked an eyebrow. "The last time I even thought about doing this was with Colossus."

It was bait with absolutely no reality behind it, but Nate's temper didn't care about that. He scowled at the ceiling. "Fuck's sake."

Wade's laugh eased something deep within him. He kissed Nate's thigh and spread Nate's cheeks, pressing his fingers inside.

He wasn't gentle or particularly smooth about it. It hurt a little at the beginning, the same way the first mile of a run felt like it might blow your lungs out. But it was Wade watching him, Wade's huge fingers trying to coax their way inside, and fuck, Nate had wanted this so fucking long.

"Have you learned what a DILF is yet?"

Nate made a terrible sound, halfway between a laugh and a moan. "Shut up and fuck me, Wade."

For once, Wade did what he was told. He loosened Nate up and then filled him up again, his cock making Nate feel like he was split in half. Wade fucked him deep and slow, snapping his hips to jostle him, laughing sweetly when Nate snarled at him. He was tall enough that he could easily kiss Nate while balls-deep inside him, trapping Nate's cock between them. He surrounded Nate, pinned him absolutely still and just fucking used him, and Nate couldn't get enough of it.

"Enough with the fucking missionary," he said. His cock was weeping, harder than he'd been in recent memory, but it wasn't enough. He hauled his own legs up, folding them over Wade's shoulders. Wade blinked down at him, mouth falling open. "Holy fucking shit." He looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you, gay sex Jesus."

"Just fuck me." Nate angled his hips up to emphasize the point. "Give it all you've got."

And oh, Wade gave.

Every drag of his freakish, bumpy cock hit Nate's prostate. He was fucking living for it, fucking Nate with abandon, babbling praise and weird shit in equal parts. All Nate had to do was hang on - literally; he braced his hands against the headboard for leverage and did his best to give as good as he got.

When he came, it was with Wade's hand jacking him hard, and he was fucking _gone_. Checked out, off the fucking planet, barely hanging on to his powers. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he felt his own spunk on his chest, his neck. Wade said, "Holy fucking shit, Nate, holy -" and came in him, head dropping down to Nate's shoulder, arms holding him so tight he almost dislocated a shoulder.

"God," Wade whispered in his ear. He was still holding himself up, but barely, arms trembling. He slipped his softening cock out of Nate's ass and said, "What if we just 69'd for Round 2?"

"You think I'll be up for another round any time soon? Young people, so optimistic."

"Shut the fuck up." Wade kicked him half-heartedly, then kissed his shoulder - quickly, like he thought Nate might shove him away. "I can't believe we could've been doing this for eight months. Everywhere! The couch -"

"Domino's couch."

"The kitchen -"

"Hygiene, Wade."

"The floor -"

"I am actually old enough for that to bother me."

"And I love that about you. Daddy," Wade said with diabolical, wide-eyed fake innocence. He cackled when Nate made a face at him.

"You know, it's not too late for divorce papers," Wade said after he finally managed to stop laughing.

Nate thought about putting an elbow in Wade's ribs, or just calling him a fuckhead. Instead of doing either, he rolled until Wade was pinned under him and kissed him again, slowly and sweetly. It felt like being in a fighter jet, like the first time he'd traveled through time. Stomach-churning. Something he wouldn't have missed for the world.

"Yeah, it is," he told Wade.

Wade's answering smile could've lit a whole fucking city.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at stopthatimp @ tumblr if you want to discuss sexual crying


End file.
